Cold Heat
by Raven Sharpe
Summary: Have you ever hated someone so much that it bordered on love? Modern day.
1. Of Music and Marriage

I remember college only faintly now. I remember my insane roommate and our messy dorm room. I remember my speech-impaired, head-in-the-clouds professors. I remember my job at the bar and all of the losers that would hit on me after a few shots. I remember my hot boyfriend. He was rich and downright sexy. I was constantly worried that one day he would get bored of me and dump me for the next girl that caught his eye. I remember my parents quietly arguing about finances when they thought I couldn't hear.

I was a vocal performance major there at the U on a measly scholarship. I was overworked and hardly slept, but I think I was happier then than I am now. Life was a whole lot simpler to say the least. I worked hard, I got a grade. I counted down the time until they finally handed me a signed slip off paper saying that I had paid the U enough money and could now actually go out and get a real job.

I was a very careful person. I tried not to have to walk alone at night, but when I did, I wasn't defenseless, if you know what I mean. Of course, what good is any weapon I know how to use against Erik? I think that even if I had a loaded gun pressed up against his forehead, he could still win without a scratch.

He says that he couldn't stand my ignorance of his presence in my life any longer and that that was why he kidnapped me. We both know that it was Raoul's proposal that pushed him off the edge.

Raoul had it all set up. He was a rich kid and so we went out to the nicer restaurants in town. I should have guessed when he took me to a restaurant where they had a live quintet playing in the background. Raoul can't stand classical music. He, like most of the population, can't tell one classical piece from another. But – he knows that I love classical music. He wanted to make the evening perfect just for me.

The maitre'd greeted us in his stiff, pressed suit. "I'll bet he waddles like a penguin, too," Raoul whispered in my ear. I laughed. We sat right next to the strings and I just about wanted to scream by the end of the night. The lead violin was constantly flat. It crawled under my skin the entire time. Raoul didn't notice at all. He was to busy fidgeting with the ring box in his pocket. Finally, while we were waiting for the deserts we were now too full to eat, Raoul tried to subtly cue the lead violin. The lead violin was too engrossed in his music to notice and Raoul gave an exasperatted sigh as he slipped out of his booth and knelt next to me. "Christine, I have really enjoyed our time together and love you so much. I want to take this a step further. Christine, will you marry me?"

I stood up. Marry Raoul. I guess I loved him. He was handsome. He had an even temper. He even had a good sense of humor. He was so much better than some of the other asses I'd dated. "Yes," I paused. "Of course I'll marry you, Raoul. I love you too." Why wouldn't I want to marry Raoul? "Excuse me for a minute." I pecked him on the lips and left for the bathroom.

I stood in front of the mirror for a long time, just staring at myself. I was suddenly sure of my decision. Why shouldn't Raoul and I get married?

I thought I saw something move in the corner of my eye and I whipped around, only to feel dizzier and dizzier. I fell to the cold tile.


	2. Of Lessons and Omlets

**Welcome back. Leave a comment for me at the end of this chapter. Criticism is good. There is no possible way that you could offend me. Just say something. My first chapters are always a bit short. All subsequent chapters should be about three pages or more. I'm getting a lot of positive response for this story.**

**Also, I write this as I go. I will probably update this slower than Dreams. I find that I have to take twelve chapters of notes for Government, write a 15-page research paper, do a chapter's worth of Calculus homework, read a novel, learn an accompaniment piece for choral contest, and work on finding scholarships so I can afford college all within the next couple weeks. Needless to say, I'm a bit booked. (No pun intended.) **

**I'm not sure about a sequel to Dreams. I felt like I was putting that story out of its misery towards the end. Maybe my muse will be kind and grant me some inspiration.**

**---'---,---((0))**

I remember worrying about my classes. I was going to be late for World Lit, and the professor always locked the door as soon as the clock hit 7:30. We had a quiz too. I was screwed.

But it felt so nice to just lie there. It felt so nice to just forget what I should be doing and enjoy the haziness of my mind.

A niggling corner of my mind poked me and reminded me that I was with Raoul last night and didn't remember how I got home. I shot up. I struggled against the fuzzy brain and tried to look around. This wasn't my bed. I knew my bed. I knew where all of the broken springs were and where the holes in my blanket were. This blanket was brand new. It still smelled of plastic. The soft mattress worked with my exhausted brain to try to lure me back to sleep. It would be so easy just to give in. I rolled out of bed. I realized I was no longer wearing my stilettos. Or the dress I wore last night. Silk sleep pants and a tank top were there instead. The carpet was thick and warm and invited me to just lay down and rest – just for a few minutes. I stood up and tried to find a wall. I cursed as I ran into an end table. That would bruise. I felt stupid groping for the light. I finally found a door and opened it. I winced as the bright light flooded into my room. I looked down at myself and saw that the pants were a watery green and the tank was white. They must have been expensive. I used the light to find a light switch and flipped it on. Soft white light illuminated the beautiful cream and deep blue of my room. I gasped at the beauty of it. Tall, gauzy, white curtains seemed to flow from the windows. The comforter was a deep blue velvet that just looked warm. It was beautiful.

Curiosity got the better of me and I tried the other two doors in the room. One led to a bathroom with a white marble tub with gold veins. The other led to a closet bigger than all of my dorm room. One scarf probably cost more than I ever paid for a pair of jeans. I was almost afraid to touch the clothes.

I turned back to the door that lead out of my room and cautiously crept out. I could feel my heart beating in my chest. Why was I here? I hadn't been raped. I was pretty sure I hadn't been raped. Or was the person who had taken me just waiting until I was conscious. My family wasn't rich, my kidnapper wouldn't be able to get a ransom from them. My mind couldn't wrap itself around it. Why had they redressed me? Why had they left the door unlocked? Why had they made up a room for me? Why did they buy me a new wardrobe? I leaned against the wall, feeling like I was going to throw up. How was I going to get out of this mess?

I checked each of the doors along the hallway. They were all firmly locked. It was a beautiful house that I was in. I hadn't seen any windows yet, but, then again, maybe I was in the basement. I tried every door, looking for some way out. The hallway seemed to stretch on forever, and I could tell I was growing weaker with every step I took. How long had it been since I had last eaten? How long had I been unconscious? I leaned more and more on the wall. I finally gave up. I admitted that I was lost. The hallways were like a maze. Except there was no cheating by slipping under one of the walls. I didn't even try to get up again. It just wasn't worth it. I couldn't stop the sleep now, I had no willpower left.

---,---'---((0))

I woke up again in the beautiful bed in my room. One of the lamps nearest to me was glowing and underneath it was a tray of food. My stomach turned. My head ached. I knew what the cure was to my stomachache, but the perfectly prepared omelet didn't look appetizing at all.

It's not that I don't like omelets in general - my dad used to make them every morning for breakfast. It just had been so long since I'd eaten that I didn't know if I my poor stomach could handle it. I sighed and picked up the heavy fork and dug in, the plate warming my lap. It almost hurt worse to eat. I forced it down and after awhile, I started to feel sort of normal again. I sipped at the now-cool coffee. It was still good. I could almost feel my headache melting away. I laid back and sighed in contentment, almost forgetting that I was some sick bastard's prisoner. I replace the tray and stretched. It was time to make good use of that marble tub. I had thought I had seen water jets in it.

I came out a few hours later feeling lazy and pampered. I had spent time merely rubbing an expensive lotion into my skin. I had even painted my nails, which I never do. I didn't want to change into clothing. I just wanted to sit all day in just my bathrobe. But, the lure of all of my new clothes was too great and I went to see if they actually fit me.

They did. Every last piece of lingerie was tailored to my exact size. I looked at myself in the 360 degree mirror. I felt sexy. I eventually settled for some skinny jeans and a soft blouse. I felt overdressed. It wasn't like I was probably going anywhere anytime soon. I hadn't even seen my kidnapper yet.

I started to explore all aspects of my room. There were hidden shelves and cabinets everywhere! I was delayed by all of the book shelves. It seemed like my kidnapper shared my tastes exactly. The shelves held all of my favorites – _Jane Eyre, 1984, The Picture of Dorian Gray_... plus a few that I hadn't had the chance to read yet – _The Count of Monte Cristo, Anna Karenina. _It would take me months to read all of those books. I dove head first into _The Grapes of Wrath_.

I never have any idea how much time passes when I read. I'm always just so absorbed in the story that hours can just evaporate. It was no wonder that I didn't notice the note placed next to me on the night stand. I wouldn't have noticed it at all if I hadn't knocked both book and note off the nightstand with my stupid clumsiness.

_Go to the third door in the hallway to the right. The door is unlocked. I await your presence._

Who writes like that past third grade? The writer of the note had the worst, most clumsy scrawl I had ever seen. The damn note was barely legible. _I should probably go._ I slowly dragged my sorry carcass out of bed and stretched, trying to get blood back into my legs. I hobbled over to the mirror and fixed my hair. I needed a cut badly. Oh well. Not much I could do now.

I cautiously edged my way out of my room. _The hallway to the right. _They all looked the same. _Third door. _I stopped. What the Hell was I doing? Willingly going to my prison guard? _Maybe... if you're really nice... freedom... _ a small voice in the back of my head whispered. Maybe that was the best way. Nah... that would be giving in – exactly what my kidnapper wanted. I was going to fight with every last fiber of my being. Yes. Fight. Don't ever give in. I turned the door handle, took a deep breath and walked in.

"Good evening, my dear." A blurry dark shape leaned against the fireplace, staring at me.

I squinted. "Who are you?"

"You don't remember you Angel of Music?" he sarcastically asked.

I saw the mask. "Erik," I breathed. I was doomed.

---,---'---((0))

Erik had been my vocal teacher. We hated each other. I don't even know why he had us continue on after the first disastrous semester. He was constantly late, but if I was late, he knew and he screamed and threw things. That first semester was hell. I think I had bruises constantly from all of his "corrections". He insulted me, I insulted him back. You ask why I didn't run away, why I didn't just report him. I tried to not go to my daily lesson once. I was sick of his bull and wasn't coming back. I had even left a note in the practice room that we used. I went out and worked on homework for a few hours in the fading sunlight. When I came back, he was waiting behind my locked door. I had walked into my dorm feeling triumphant. I had beat him. I had won. Next semester, I would just get a different voice teacher. How wrong I was. I opened the door and tried to flipped on the light. And tried again. I remember think that I needed to maybe change the light bulbs. I blundered my way towards my desk lamp. He reached out of the shadows and caged me in his cold arms. I kicked his shin and he hissed capturing my legs as well.

"Are you done struggling, _angel?_" he asked his hand muffling my answer. I stiffened, realizing who held me. "Good," he cooed. "You missed a lesson."

How did he expect me to answer? His hand still covered my mouth.

"And your foolish note – did you ever think you could train with any teacher here greater than I? All of their 'professors' are bumbling idiots, only in their position because they were told that they had superb voices. No. You will train with me," He loosened his grip on me and spun me around looking straight into my eyes. "Always."

"But you hate me..."

He laughed. If you think of the high cackle of a mad person combined with the deep chuckle of a bass singer and the wild laugh of someone who just did something stupid and lived, it would be Erik's laugh. "You are my student. Mine. And my student will be at lessons on time tomorrow. Or else." He laughed again. I was scared. No – I was terrified for my life. And so I went to lessons. Every lesson. On time. Some days he was almost polite. Some days I left wanting to stab the damn man. Secretly, some days I was attracted to him. Some days, if he would have asked me out, I might have considered saying yes. And then there were the other days, where I purposefully left anything I could bludgeon him with in my dorm room.

Our arrangement had worked for a long time. Then, one day he went to far. I don't even remember what he said anymore, but I remember being so pissed that I snapped. I slapped him across the face and knocked his mask off. I honestly thought he was going to kill me. I'm sure he came close. He looks dead. There is no nice euphemism to use. He looks like he died, was left out in the sun for a few days and then decided to come back. His face looks like rotted, putrid flesh that is just beginning to fall of the bone. His eyes – they glow in the dark. Weird. Anyways, they burned. He grabbed me around the neck and lifted me against the wall. He merely said, "You are mine. Forever." I was starting to see stars across my vision. He held me there for an age, pinned to the wall, staring deep into my eyes. I stopped struggling. I was running out of oxygen. My vision started fade. I remember falling, but not hitting the ground.

When I came to, I was tucked into my own bed. I had the worst headache in the world. Hangovers weren't that bad. I reached up for the aspirin and saw something glint on my third finger. It was the most beautiful diamond ring. It was in the Edwardian style, engraved with dozens of roses, each with a small diamond embedded in their center. In the middle was a huge diamond, sunk deep into the ring, so that it would not catch on anything. I loved the ring. It was everything I had ever imagined a... I pulled it off quickly. It was from _him_. He would probably hurt me if I didn't wear it, but I didn't want to give my boyfriend the wrong impression. I was hoping he would propose soon... I put it on a chain and hung it around my neck. That was a decent enough compromise.

I went back for the next morning's lesson and Erik never showed. Nor to the one after that. I finally stopped going. He didn't seek me out, so I thought I was safe. How stupid I am.

**(posted 04-23-10)**


	3. Of Alfredo and Wine

**I know how this story ends now! I was asked to write a bit of Erik's perspective. I will at the very end. After Christine – did you really think I would tell you? No. Anyways, I know Erik sounds really random now, but that is because it is what Christine thinks. Ah, Erik. I only really know what Erik is doing, not what he is thinking. Thanks for reading and (hopefully) reviewing!**

**---------((0))**

"Yes, Christine. Did you think I would just leave you like that?"

I sighed, defeated. "No. I guess not. _I was hoping you would_," I muttered under my breath.

"Oh Christine, I'm afraid you'll never be free of me." His eyes glinted with amused maliciousness.

"Why am I here?"

"Mmmm... no word games?"

"Straight truth."

"The truth is a funny thing, Christine. Nobody's truth is the same as the next person." He walked towards me.

"The truth, Erik."

"Hmmm... what if I decide what truth you hear? You would not know the difference."

"Erik! Why am I here?!"

"No need to yell, _dear_. I assure you I am not deaf yet." I could feel my anger ripping through my chest.

"Erik – what the hell are you playing at?!"

"You. You have gotten a temper since we last talked. You finally grew a backbone."

"And you've softened. Now – I'm dying to know, why the bloody f-ing hell am I here?"

"Ah, but if you knew that you would know the truth. And the truth can be a very _ugly_ thing."

"And so are you."

"Point taken. I suspect you are probably hungry. I have lunch ready for you."

"I refuse to eat your food."

"You already have. Come on. You like chicken alfredo."

I gave in. He was right. I could never pass up a dish of chicken alfredo. It didn't matter how full I was.

"I would like to continue our lessons. I have no doubt you have let your voice rust while I was away," he continued. "You always were lazy."

"This coming from the man who rarely leaves his house?"

"You have no idea. Do you know of Georgia, Iran, Kazakhstan?"

"Kazaka-what?"

"That's what I thought."

"Hey! I have been to Georgia. They have lovely beaches."

"Not the state, dear. The country."

"I live in the U.S." I said indignantly.  
"There is a small country that Russia constantly has under siege called Georgia," he explained patronizingly.

"Is that another one of your _truths_?" I wanted to slap him senseless.

He smirked. "Yes. It is. Come eat." He led me into the dining room. I tried not to show it, but I was impressed. He had _taste_.

I could smell the alfredo. I sat and dug into my still-warm plate. I sipped at the wine. It was _good_. I could feel all my inhibitions float away with each glass he poured. Pretty soon I was giggling at Erik's mask. He helped me up and helped me stumble to his office. There were some papers laying on a huge, shiny, mahogany desk. I laughed. The letters looked so _funny_. Erik handed me a pen. I clicked it a few times. It made a _weird_ noise!

"I want you to write your name on this blank, Christine."

"Why? Why do you want my name? You have yours!" I cackled.

He looked at me with amusement deep in his eyes. "Why yes, but what fun is having your name, when you could have mine?"

"No word games, Erik?

"Just sign."

"Ooookay. I really didn't like my name anyways." I put the pen to the paper and cursed loudly because it didn't work. Erik took it from me, opened it, and handed it back. "Ooooh... he, he." I signed my name and then passed out onto Erik's desk.

---------((0))

I groaned. So this was the hangover everyone was afraid of! I tried to turn the lamp on, but only succeeded in knocking something that sounded like a pill bottle over. I managed to turn the lamp on, only to moan at the pounding in the back of my head. On my lamp stand there was a glass of water. I was surprised I didn't knock it over. I fell out of bed and blindly searched for the pill bottle. After an eternity of trying to get the damn bottle open, I poured out three aspirin and dry swallowed them. I crawled back into bed and tried not to think as the room slowly spun around me.

---------((0))

Sunlight streamed in through my window. I cautiously opened my eyes. The room had stopped spinning, but my head still pounded. A breeze fluttered the curtains and I walked over to the window and looked out. A tapestry of the most beautiful blooms greeted me. Their thick perfume permeated my room. I inhaled. Mmmm... Mrs. de Chagny had a flower garden. She used to gently chide Raoul and I for stepping on her prize begonias. She never yelled. Never... she just would quietly reprimand us and ask us to try to not get too muddy. I sat in the windowsill basking in the sunlight.

A cloud passed over and I shivered at the sudden chill, letting the memory go. I was at Erik's house. He was going to kill me – I was sure of it. I started to wonder how late it was. Where was Erik, anyways? I thought to last night and panicked. I remember him bribing me with the alfredo. I drank a lot of that wine. It was _good_, too. We left for his office. He had that piece of paper. I was talking about something – I can't remember what. I signed that piece of paper – oh God, what have I done? What did he make me sign? I strode over to the door and tried the knob. Locked. Damn it. I started banging on the door, insulting Erik in every language I know.

The door was suddenly gone and I fell. Erik reached out and caught me, wrapping his thin, cold arms around my chest. I slapped him and he dropped me.

"O Christine. Or should I say Mrs. La Font? After all, we are married."

I wanted to wipe that goddamn smirk off his ugly face. "No we aren't, you sick bastard."

"Oh, but we are. In the eyes of the state. And G-" he choked on the word.

"I never-"

"Yes, you did. You must not be feeling well. After all, you did drink quite a bit of wine last night."

"Oh God. What have I done?"

"Married me, Mrs. Erik La Font."

I flew at him, rage pounding through head, making it impossible to think. Erik – well, he merely grabbed my fists and started backing me against the wall. He had me, and we both knew it. I struggled against him, fear bubbling in my stomach. He kissed me, forcing his cold tongue into my hot mouth. It burned. I don't know if it hurt or felt good. I felt both repulsed and addicted. It seemed to go on forever. I didn't know whether I wanted it to end or not.

He pulled away slightly, breathing hard. I stopped struggling. "Come. You're headache will ease with food, Mrs. La Font." He abruptly turned away and started walking down the hall, knowing I would follow. I fell to the ground and tried to compose myself. It was a mistake to give in to my temper. He liked it. I couldn't let him see me cry either. I refused to cry. Only weak people cried. I wasn't weak. I would win. I would marry Raoul, and then everything would work itself out from there. I just needed to escape Erik. Yeah, right. It wouldn't work to try to fight him. He was stronger and probably had more experience. I would have to outsmart him. Catch him off guard... yes.

"Christine! Your breakfast is getting cold!" Erik yelled and I jumped to my feet. To get out, I would have to play his game. If he thought I wouldn't run, he might give me more freedoms. I laughed quietly to myself as I walked into breakfast.

**(posted 04-30-10)**


	4. Of Suicide and Murder

**Ah, Erik and mirrors. Our _poor_ Erik is having a good time in this chapter.**

**A note on how evil Erik is: Would you open your heart up in a relationship where you knew that the other person would sit there and laugh as they ripped it to shreds?**

**A note on Christine's stupidity: I see Christine as almost me when I was younger and very naïve. No, I'm not trying to write myself into a fiction because I have no life and want to live through my stories. Not true. (At least the part about living through my fics.) She merely is modeled after a disastrous relationship that inspired me.**

**I don't know how I did it, but I survived one more week _and_ posted another chapter.**

---------((0))

We went through breakfast in silence. Or else I did. Erik at first tried to prompt conversation, but gave up, finally talking about the music we were working on later that day. I grabbed my empty plate to leave, and Erik took it from me.

"Leave it. It will be taken care of later."

"You have servants?" I asked.

"Yes," he admitted awkwardly.

"So what do you do? Voice teachers don't earn enough to have servants."

"Let's see... you want me to tell you that I deal morphine, forge legal documents, and am a bounty hunter in my spare time?"

That sounded like him. "Do you?"

"You hopefully will never know for sure." That sounded like a yes.

"Jesus Christ. And I thought I had problems."

"Really? And what are your 'problems'?"

"Grades. Money. You."

"Touché, touché. And what about that tone-deaf little girl you call your boyfriend? He couldn't tell Bach from Debussy."

"Hmmm... compared to the man who lives on the underground?"

"I didn't say I don't have a perfectly legitimate career. I just skipped to the less than legal part of my annual income. Besides – it's nontaxable. Quite convenient."

"And what do you do that's legit?"

"I design buildings. The new School of Music on campus is my design."

I loved that building. Not anymore. "That's how you built that room. Figures."

"I find I love the physics involved with magic tricks and with a little back-lighting here and there and I can appear out of thin air."

"What exactly do you have a degree in?"

"Lots of things. A few doctorates – I could never settle on one subject," He smirked.

"And you are how old?"

"Don't you know it's rude to ask one's age?"

"Well we are _married_ after all."

"Very true, Mrs. La Font," he added knowing it would piss me off. "And, Mrs. La Font is very late for her lesson."

"What's the point? Are you actually going to let me out to go perform, or am I forever stuck here, as your slave."

"You are my slave forever."

"Pervert." I turned on my heel and walked out.

---------((0))

I felt like a little kid as I stepped back and looked at my handiwork. That should keep him out. Maybe the desk was a bit excessive. It was Erik though.

I spent the rest of the day trying on all the clothes in my closet and looking at them in the huge mirror that took up almost a whole wall in my room. I even tried on the lingerie. Erik was a sick pervert. He probably thought I'd wear it for him. Nope. Raoul, maybe. I examined myself in a lacy bra. Maybe a bit too lacy. Too much frill. The placement of the straps was good. It would work perfectly under the blue dress in the closet. I sighed and turned around taking it off and tried on the next piece. This one was better!

---------((0))

I lay on the bed for a long time staring up at the ceiling. A thought niggled at the back of my mind, but I quickly squelched it. I was going to enjoy the quiet. I closed my eyes. It was so peaceful. I wonder what E-. No. I was going to lay there and think of nothing. Sit back and watch my mind from afar. It certainly helped the headache. I started humming a nonsense tune. It evolved into something of Erik's, and I stopped. No. I would not think of him.

Maybe I should take a bath. That would pass the time. I slowly convinced myself to rise up out of my warm indentation on the bed and face the cold air of the bathroom. I sighed as the mirror steamed up from the heat.

I looked through the medicine cabinet – maybe he had some drugs for my headache. I shifted through mouthwash, Q-tips, toenail clippers, and every shade of nail polish known to woman without finding any painkiller. I did however find the most magnificent pair of scissors. I don't even know why they were there. They seemed a bit out of place for a medicine cabinet. They were long and a shiny silver. They were that kind of scissors were the tips weren't child-safed. They were sharp as the point of a knife. I examined the edges of the knife with a sick fascination, looking for flaws in the blade. There were no chips. One could shave with that knife. I felt suffocated by a sudden wave of depression. Was it even worth it to fight Erik? What if I just gave up? All it would take would be two short drags across my wrists. I think stabbing the heart would be quicker, but with my luck, I would just miss. I held the blade flat against my wrist feeling the cold metal. My eyes burnt with the tears I refused to shed. Madness. All it would take would be one cut, and I would have definite evidence of being as sane as Erik. If I was dead, I would no longer be married to him. What if I went to Hell? That would suck. What if it didn't exist? What if it was just oblivion? Was that kinder or harsher than eternal pain? Oblivion almost sounded nice. I would die alone, though. No one but Erik would remember me. No one but Erik would put flowers on my grave. That was depressing. No. I put the scissors back in the cabinet, shutting the door firmly between me and them. I had to live. I would escape. I would marry Raoul. I would have kids and grandkids. I would be buried somewhere in a place where someone would put flowers on my grave every Memorial Day, no matter how long I had been dead. I would live in the sun. Raoul and I would but a little whit cottage and I would plant a flower garden out front and yell at the dog for digging up my bulbs. How lucky normal people are! A tear final escaped my closed eyes as I leaned back in the tub, trying to lose myself in my perfect dream world.

I don't know how long I was in the tub, only that the water was freezing by the time I finally admitted it and crawled out. I couldn't stop shivering even after I was safely ensconed within the warm blankets of my bed. That was when I noticed the cup of tea on my nightstand. I picked it up and wrapped my hands around it. It was still warm. I inhaled the smell of it. You know, I think that's about a half of my enjoyment of food is the smell – well maybe a third. You have to account for taste and presentation. I slowly sipped the warm, calming tea. I could feel my limbs getting heavier. I set the teacup on the nightstand and curled up in the now-warm blankets, too tired to turn the light off.

---------((0))

When I woke up, the light was off. I ran to the switch and turned it on as quick as I could. I snapped my head around and found out my hair was now braided. I rubbed the bridge of my nose as I checked that all the furniture I had put in place was still there. It was. Every single piece. I ripped the braid out of my hair with an unmatched viciousness. I revelled in the feeling of my sore scalp. I stopped and looked around. He obviously didn't come through the door. Where then? The window? That must be it. I ran over and checked the window. Still locked. From the inside. There was no way he could have been in my room. The tea (probably drugged). My hair. The light. What else had he done? I felt the opposite side of my bed. It was still warm. I grabbed my beautiful pair of sharp, shiny scissors. I was going to kill the bastard.

---------((0))

I got as far as the music room before I heard the music. It was so soft, so sad that my heart automatically reached out to it. It was so beautiful. Surely it was a heinous crime to destroy something so poignant. I broke down and wept. The music was torturous. I wanted to reach for it, to touch it, to stroke it, but it is like trying to hold water in your hands. You can only retain a little bit of it for a mere moment before you must let it go. I sobbed. I sobbed for me. I sobbed for Erik. I sobbed for Raoul. I sobbed for Mom and Dad. Erik stopped playing and gathered me into his arms. I hid the scissors.

"I love you, don't you know that?" he began. " I wish I could give you up. It would make my life so much simpler. My love for you is like a man dying of thirst that comes on a well. He doesn't care if the well contains wine, water, or poison. He will gulp down the liquid with equal fervency. I love you, and I want you. Even if you spend the rest of your days trying to kill me, I will still love you and want to bask in your presence. Even if you never speak to me or sing for me again, merely your presence is enough to sustain me. It would kill me if you were to leave and never come back. I would die if you married another man and tried to live out the rest of your life with him, not me. I love you, Christine. Even when you hate me. I was dying here before you came. And now – now I believe I have life flowing through my dead, rotting veins for once in my life.

"You need me as well, Christine. You will never be happy with that boy. You will always feel that something is missing. There is no nice happily ever after. It doesn't ever turn out that way. You know that. Fairy tales don't exist. I can give you music. That is what you truly need. It is what your soul craves. We are so alike, Christine. Now, hand me the scissors."

He knew all along. The tears I had cried were drying in cold trails along my cheeks. "No."

"Christine..." he sounded tired now. I had to do it. Now or never and all that b.s.

I grasped them and swung my arm around to stab him in his "loving" heart. He grabbed my arm and twisted. Before I could react, I was pinned on my stomach, my cheek pressed against the cold ground. "Don't you know by now that it is impossible to kill me?"

"I can always hope."

He sighed, shifting his grip. I struggled all the harder. A soft piece of cloth was pressed against my nose and mouth. I immediately held my breath. He wasn't going to win this time! My lungs were ready to pop. I kept struggling, my efforts becoming more and more pathetic. My vision started to fade. I gave in too the blackness.

**(posted 05-06-10)**


	5. Of Hope and Love

**Bonjour. Hi. Guten Tag. Hola. Gracias, para estas leyendo mi libro. Merci. Danke. Thanks.**

---------((0))

I felt like crap. My chest felt so damn heavy and my head pounded. I shifted and discovered the blanket laying over me. I kept my eyes closed. Erik was probably watching me. My neck ached from being set on the arm of the sofa. I tried to listen for him. I couldn't hear anyone else breathing, but then again – did Erik actually breathe or was he as dead as he looked. I cautiously opened my eyes. I was in the library. The fire in the fireplace glowed softly, illuminating only the odd group of armchairs my sofa was in. I shivered. It was still cold.

Where was Erik? He was probably removing all sharp objects from my room. I tried to sit up. No luck. It seemed like my limbs were made of lead. I laid there looking into the fire. Somewhere in the midst of the shifting shadows, I slipped back into unconsciousness.

---------((0))

When I woke up again I could feel his eyes on me. Creeper. I wondered how long he had been staring at my unconscious body.

"It's rude to stare, you know." My voice cracked.

"It's bad to speak right after waking up. Here. Ill bet you're hungry." He helped me up and pushed a plate of crepes onto my lap. I leaned back and groaned.

"How long -"

"Nearly thirteen hours. Eat. It'll help you recover." I grabbed the fork and started to cut a bit off. "I was starting to worry." I said nothing. "I brought you some tea," he said sounding hopeful.

"What day is it, anyways?"

"It doesn't matter."

I sighed. "Just give me the date, Erik."

"No."

"This is childish."

"So was your pathetic attempt on my life." Awkward silence.

"I'm sorry," I finally admitted.

"So am I."

"So is my room thoroughly child-proofed by now?"

"Yes, in fact it is."

I looked up from my plate. "Erik, where do we go from here? Are we just going to keep arguing like little children? Are you going to keep me here until I die? You say we're married, but I don't remember a priest or a judge or any witnesses -"

"I took care of that."

"So a few well-placed bribes and..."

"Yes."

I sighed.

"I'll let you go, too," he said like he was bargaining for my forgiveness.

"When?"

"When I know you'll come back without being drugged."

"It's that simple?"

"Yes. It's that simple."

"You'll let me go?"

"Not permanently, but yes. Never permanently."

It _was_ too good to be true.

"Let's go sing."

Yes Erik, the answer to everything. Singing. "Let's go sing."

---------((0))

I stared up at the dark ceiling later that night. Who was I becoming? I had tried to kill a man. I had almost tried to kill myself. Why so much death? Erik is death, though. He looks like it and sows it wherever he goes. Dead. Death. Died. Mortal. Kicked the bucket. Croaked. I'd bet that Erik never croaks. Ha, ha, ha. Eternal sleep. Passed on. Why do people even say that? It doesn't change the fact that the person is dead. It doesn't soften the blow. Just say the person died. How hard is that? What am I doing? I was thinking like Erik. That was bad. I needed to get out. How, though? I couldn't fight Erik. Well, at least I couldn't fight him physically. I couldn't fight him mentally. As much as it pained me to admit it, he was smarter than me. I would have to fight him emotionally. That was a spot everyone is vulnerable in. He obviously loved me. I could use that to my advantage. And once he had his guard down... I needed to make sure I would be free permanently, not just for a little while in between "visits".

---------((0))

"Come with me, Christine."

I followed his soft command, calm and docile – at least on the surface. Inside I was making fun of him. I know he noticed my sudden change and that he was suspicious, but I think he was just enjoying the calm while it lasted.

He led me to a new door. He held it open for me and I cautiously walked through. I was outside! The moon was full and its light flooded the large lawn I was walking across. Erik fell in a few paces behind me, letting me admire my surroundings, testing to see if I would run or not.

"Over here," he softly prompted. I turned and followed him to a spot were a blanket was laid out under the clear, starry sky. He laid down and I followed suit. "Aren't they beautiful?"

Unlike you, Erik. "Yes, they are."

"I used to love to sit out under the stars and just think."

About death. And decay. "My dad used to tell me stories about the constellations." Before he died.

"Mmmm... everywhere I traveled, I learned the local's star myths. My favorite was one I heard in the Middle East." The Middle East – why? Probably smuggling atomic information to give to those small groups you hear about on the evening news – what were they called? "They told a story about a bird." A bird. Fantastic. "The bird had the most brilliant plumage – red the color of the sunset over the desert, the yellow of saffron, the orange of the sand at twilight, and if you looked closely you would see blue and a white like the fleeting cloud in the desert sky." So it was a colorful bird. Moving on... "The bird was huge, larger than the emus on the Nile." A big, colorful bird – great. "It was a bird that once befriended, was loyal for life." Hmmm... big pet bird. "It was a peaceful creature, unlike so many in that horrible desert. It thrived only on the rare herbs found only in the rare oases." Yum, herbs. "It lived a thousand years, singing its haunting song that lingered in the cold morning air. No one who ever heard that beautiful song ever forgot it." So your huge red, peaceful bird can sing. Oh, and it'll die for you. Really? "As the bird wasted away, it returned to mountains, climbing the last stretches as its feathers mouldered away and its body slowly gave in. It would reach the peak of the mountain and in a great scream of pain, would light on fire and burn to ash." Burning bird. Tasty. "The ashes would cool and the snow would fall, and in the spring, when the spring rains came, a new bird would arise from the ashes, to watch over the next thousand years." He sounded almost sad. Awww... not. "Thus is the story of the phoenix. Look there – at that group there... do you see it?"

"Those six stars?"

"Yes." He was doing this just to lean in closer. I inwardly grimaced and let him with a gentle smile. "The villagers said that a new bird was born at the beginning of the century and that this bird was different. It was supposed to bring peace to the land. The shah didn't want peace. You see, war was very profitable for him and his friends. And so he sent a man to befriend the bird. The man traveled for any weeks, braving the coldest peaks and the hottest deserts to find the phoenix. He finally found it still in the nest it was reborn into.

"The man fund that the bird had only one wing that was of any real use. The other was folded in on itself and twisted. The man felt sorry for the bird and carried it down to its home in the hot deserts. They became fast friends and the bird pledged its loyalty to the man, knowing he was a good man that did what was right.

"Well, the shah was getting impatient and called the man into his private chambers. The king set down a huge bag of pure gold coins and told the man that if he killed the bird, he would get that sack of gold.

"The man refused.

"The king was angry and threw him out of his quarters. But – after three days, the man received summons again from the king.

"This time the king had lined up all of the beautiful women of the kingdom and told the man that if he would kill the phoenix, he would give him any of the girls.

"The man refused again.

"The king was furious and had the man beaten. But – after three days, the man once more received summons from the king.

"This time the shah offered to make the man his top advisor. He would want for nothing. He would be given a palace, a harem – anything he could desire. If he would just kill that damn bird.

"The man refused. He loved the bird. It whispered to him hope. The bird's hope was sometimes all he had when he saw women and orphans beaten to death for simply not bowing low enough.

"The shah grabbed the man and pressed his sword against the man's neck and threatened to kill him if he did not kill the phoenix.

"The man knelt before the shah and held the shah's blade against his neck and told the shah to kill him, for he could not bear to kill the bird.

"The shah sheathed his blade and turned his back to the man.

"He said, 'I know what you noble people like – sacrifice. I will give you three days and if the bird is not dead sunset of the third day, I will go out to the street and the first hundred people I come across will find their fate on the end of a rope.'"

"The man was devastated. He left in silence. He went back to the bird and told it the situation. The phoenix and the man sat in silence for a whole day.

"The bird finally looked at the man, hopped over to him and took his dagger from him. The bird set it in his hand and looked over at the man in silence. The man knew what he had to do. And with one stoke of the sword, Hope died, and with the other – Love lived."

"What a horrible story."

"If only... but I can only wish. Love is tragic. Life is hopeless. All we can do is enjoy the stars while we can still see them."

"They're beautiful."

"Yes, beautiful." Ugly bastard. "Are you ready to retire for the night?"

I yawned and he chuckled. Jerk. He took my hand and led me back into the house. It was almost painful, going back away from that whiff of freedom. He led me back to my room and left me, thankfully, alone. I'd never been more tired.

---------((0))

Lessons only seemed to be getting longer. It seemed like Erik was letting me get less and less sleep every night, keeping me busy with something all the time. Rings started to form under my eyes and I no longer had the energy to insult Erik in the back of my mind. I had no energy anymore. It took serious effort to just get out of that comfortable armchair in the library.

Erik watched. I didn't have the energy to be suspicious, anymore. He made sure that I ate, even though I never really felt hungry. He drilled technique over and over again. And again. And again. I wanted to hit the man over the head with his damn technique book. If I had the energy to lift the book.

I watched myself descend as if detached. And finally one day I broke.

**(posted 05-14-10)**


	6. Of Captivity and Freedom

No one can resist that kind of pressure for long. I think that it was Erik's plan all along to slowly wear away at my boundaries until I snapped.

He banged his fist onto the sensitive keyboard and I flinched at the harsh sound.

"Wrong note! Again! How many times do we have to go over this? That is the wrong note! Do you understand?" He yelled, his face starting to turn color.

I shrank back into myself. I didn't have the energy to fight. I didn't have the energy to hide. All I could do was do thee one thing I had sworn not to do. I cried. The tears flowed down my face.

"Oh, Christine, I'm sorry. Come here."

I obeyed. He wrapped his cold arms around me and I curled into his chest. I leaned my ear against his chest and just sat there listening to the beat of his heart and the slow expanding and contracting of his lungs. I gave in. I surrendered. I was his. I knew that. Even if he let me go, I was his. I would come trailing back, a faithful dog. He held me so gently. It made me just happy to be in his arms.

"Sleep deeply, sleep deeply, Christine."

And so he slept in my bed that night. I did not even question it. Why would I? He held me close all night as I fell into the black oblivion. If I dreamed, I didn't remember when I awoke. Giving in was like skiing down a mountain after hours of climbing higher and higher.

---------((0))

"Christine, I have some business to take care of," Erik said, watching me as I ate breakfast. "I'll be out of the country for a few months and – well... I can't let you come with me and I can't let you stay here. You would get into far too much trouble." He smiled. I nodded and sipped my tea. "Therefore, I set an apartment up for you. It is about time for classes to start at the University and I thought you would probably want to finish your formal education."

I smiled. How sweet! He always thought of everything for me. "I would love to go back to the University. I can get my degree and just be done with it all."

"Wonderful." He grinned happily.

I pulled my best puppy dog eyes. "When do you have to leave?"

"Three days."

"Only three days?"

"It's enough to get you settled and me packed. I already have your apartment all stocked and ready. I'll be off today to set up an account in our name."

"You think of everything Erik." I smiled.

---------((0))

I was packing some of my favorite baubles when my mirror _moved_. It's like it was there one moment and gone the next. I stared into the black hole and prayed Erik would come help me.

Right on cue, he stepped through the mirror frame.

"How?"

"Forward and back lighting. I believe that Disney uses it all the time to create some of their illusions."

"Can I see?"

"Of course." He helped me up and let me to the black hole. "Watch your step."

"Thanks," I said as he helped me over the rim. I looked through the other side of the mirror. _It was transparent! _That time I tried on all of the clothes _in front of that mirror_. I looked back at Erik suspicion starting to well up. I blushed and looked into his eyes. I was lost as soon as I looked into those eyes; molten gold invaded my mind and the mirror no longer mattered. None of it mattered anymore. Just those eyes – that soul. I couldn't dream of resisting it.

"I didn't take advantage of you that night, you know that, Christine?"

"I know," I echoed.

"You are mine. Forever mine."

"Yes, Erik. I won't ever try to run away again."

"Good. Erik loves his wife."

"Yes, I know."

"Erik drugged the tea so that he could spend some time with his wife. He loves her so much. Her hair was so tangled – he merely brushed it out and braided it for her. He loves her, and he only wanted to hold her, to feel the heat that radiates off her body. It is so nice to not feel so alone. To be alone is but another type of a cage, and Erik hates to be trapped. He hates it so very much."

"Me too."

"He saw Christine walking with her friends in the fall – laughing, singing, talking. It was beautiful. Erik couldn't stop himself. He had to have you as his student. Then, you tried to leave Erik. Erik was so angry. He missed his Christine. He asked her to come back. She did. She sang for Erik. And Erik was happy. You see, Erik-I love you. I wouldn't survive if you left me."

"I don't think I would either, Erik."

"I'll be back as soon as I can from this nasty business of mine."

---------((0))

I found Erik later slumped in an armchair in the library. He looked so peaceful. I smiled as I pulled the blanket off the sofa and spread it over him to keep him warm through the night. I rolled his left sleeve down and closed the box sitting next to him. Poor Erik. I promised myself that I'd make him get more sleep.

---------((0))

And so, Erik drove me for hours in his nice car. Don't ask what kind. I couldn't tell you even if I did see the logo on the front. All I remember is that it had seat warmers and went really fast. Need I say that it was also black?

As we drove, I looked out the window at the beautiful countryside. How lovely it was – just Erik and I. We didn't even need to talk. Somehow, the silence just felt right.

We entered the city and I gawked at all the people. There were so many of them! Had there been this many last spring? I looked up at the tall buildings whose tops disappeared into the glare of the sun.

I could tell Erik was getting uncomfortable. He must hate cities. No wonder, if people were constantly staring at him because of his mask. Poor Erik. How terrible it must be to only be able to live at night, when everyone else was asleep!

He pulled up at a beautiful apartment complex within walking distance of the School of Music. The parking ramp was abandoned as he led me to a shiny new car that looked expensive. Again – don't ask me what kind of car it was. He handed me the keys and told me it was mine. All mine!

He took my arm and led me to the elevator. He held me close on the way up. I got more and more worried as the light on the elevator climbed to higher and higher numbers. It hit the top number and kept going!

It dinged and Erik again guided me out into a beautiful already furnished apartment. It was all in light colors – happy, sunny, alive colors. I ran over and merely touched the curtains and jumped on the soft couch. I felt like a little kid who had just been given a brand-new toy.

I ran over and hugged Erik. He was lapping up my attention like a kitten laps up warm milk.

I looked him in his beautiful golden eyes and told him the truth. The truth that I felt deep in my soul. I got it. I finally understood.

"I love you Erik."

**---{---{---((0))**

**Oh, snap. Did I really just write that. Isn't there supposed to be – well, a struggle? It ain't over 'til the fat lady sings y'all. No, Erik didn't rape Christine after he drugged her tea. He might've been sitting behind that mirror enjoying the lingerie, though. No, Christine is not high right now. Her mind just took a bit of a vacation. It'll be back. I promise. Erik, on the other hand... let's just say that with Christine's mind the way it is, if she did find Erik passed out in an armchair with his box of syringes formerly filled with morphine, I don't think she would've noticed.**

**This chapter was very 1984. I don't think this Erik would abuse Christine as much as the government abuses the main character of 1984, but you get the picture.**

**I don't beg. However, reviews do make me type faster.**


	7. Of Fresh Air and Sunshine

I saw a myriad of emotions fly behind his eyes. Love. Pain. Confusion. Lust. Guilt.

He smiled down at me. "I love you too, mon ange."

"I'll miss you, Erik."

I swear he just about broke down right there. He embraced me with the fervor of one he would never see again. "I'll miss you too, Christine."

"When will you be back?"

"Around Christmas."

"So long. I wish you could stay."

"Me too. I have to go, ma cherie." My heart broke with his strangled goodbye. I tried to smile through my tears. "I love you."

"I love you too."

He closed the door softly behind him.

---{---{---((0))

I never had felt so alone. It was like walking out of a warm room into the bitter cold of winter without a coat. There was nothing to do. The apartment was clean. Dinner was made, eaten, and cleaned up. I hadn't the heart to read the books, I just curled up in front of the fire and tried to think about Erik's music. It would not come. I sighed and grabbed a glass of the wine chilling in the fridge and put on a CD. It was a pathetic imitation.

---{---{---((0))

I tried to go for a walk. It was a bright, warm, sunny day. There was not a cloud in the sky and no breeze ruffled my hair. I walked out into the public garden to admire all of the late flowers. They were so lovely.

I winced at the sharp pain at the back of my head. Damn. I looked through my purse. Of course, the one thing I forget would be painkiller! I cringed at the second wave of pain that rode through my head. I walked home, squinting. My eyes hurt like hell!

I closed the door behind me and quickly closed off all the blinds and turned off all the lights except one lamp in the corner. I grabbed a painkiller and laid down on the couch.

The sun. It hurt. It never had before. I used to live for the sunlight. I laid there in the darkness and tried to remember my life. What did it matter? I had Erik now.

All of that darkness, it must have weakened my eyes. I wondered what it was like for Erik, who never left the dark. No wonder he was trapped there.

I let the happy memories of our lessons together flow through my mind, soothing the fading pain in my head.

_---{---{---((0))_

_Erik let the final chord fade into the air, still thick with the music._

"_That – that is music."_

_I let the elation slowly fade. _

"_The oneness. The wholeness. That is what you must aim for."_

_I felt it. Our souls – they were one at that moment. I could feel him. I felt the music and I was addicted. I knew at that moment that I would never be able to live without music anymore. We basked in it. Erik lapsed into a turbulent lullaby. I listened to the open chords and the long, graceful runs. He scooted over and I sat on the piano bench with him. My eyelids slowly grew heavier and heavier until I could not resist. I leaned against his cold, bony body and fell asleep. He said something as I fell asleep, but I never could remember what. _

---{---{---((0))

_We finally had finished a bad lesson. He screamed and yelled about me being lazy and unteachable. I had maybe skipped practice on Friday night and party. Anyways, at the end, I was walking out and he grabbed me and led me to his car. I could feel the fear rising in my stomach._

"_Relax, I'm just taking you to dinner."_

_Dinner? I was confused. He had just spent the last two hours screaming at me, and now he was taking me out – to dinner? _

"_Get in." I looked at the car door and considered it. "Don't even think about running. You know I would catch you and there is no one to witness me hauling you away."_

_Damn it, he was right. I slowly opened the door and when Erik was sure I wouldn't run, he climbed in too. The engine purred to life and he took off. Driving with Erik was almost more frightening than when he had you held up against a wall, pinned by your throat. I think I said a whole rosary of Hail Mary's during that trip. _

_We got farther and farther out into the country until there was no civilization. He drove like a maniac, so we got there in at least half the time it should have taken. Still – it took too long._

_There was no moon that night, so everything was pitch black. Erik didn't even turn the headlights on! When he stopped, I was taken off guard. Where were we? Erik pulled my door open and grabbed my wrist to pull me out. I shook him off. He took my wrist again and just held it, squeezing painfully. He stood there and looked at me pointedly and I got the message. Things would go a whole lot easier if I just obeyed him._

_He dragged me into his house and through numerous hallways, each one colder and darker than the last. He stopped at a door and opened it, mockingly holding it open for me. I didn't dare hesitate. I already probably had bruises from his "persuasion." I glared at him as he smirked and locked the door behind himself._

"_Have a seat, Christine." He pulled out a chair for me. "I made dinner just for you. If you'll excuse me for a moment..." He left. I tried to get up out of my chair – and could not. I was trapped between the arms of the chair and the table! I tried tipping the chair over, scooting it back – all to no avail. I sighed. I was way too tired for all of this. Why didn't you try to turn him in to the police, you ask? I didn't feel like I could ruin his professional life. What an idiot I was – am! Erik was probably watching me, laughing his head off. _

_He came in after what seemed like forever juggling a plate of fish something or other (he told me the name – I don't speak Italian) and two glasses of red wine. _

_I inhaled my wine's fumes. It was so much better than that rotgut stuff Meg and I bought off the black market. I swirled its succulent flavor over my tongue and swallowed slowly, feeling the warmth it brought to my head._

"_Aren't you going to eat?"_

"_Forgive me, I already ate. Please – dig in."_

_I did. I think that was the best food I've ever eaten (besides that alfredo the other day). I sighed as I finished. I was warm and full and didn't really care anymore. _

_Erik pulled me into a new room. I sat down in the warm, comfortable chair and he played the same piece as that day a few months earlier. (I asked him later what that piece was – he said it was Clare de Loon. Damn French.) I don't really remember much later, but Erik says he just took me that he "took care of me." _

_---{--{---((0))_

I slipped out of my reverie at the knock on the door. Who – at this time of night... The bloody knocking would not stop! I walked to the grumbling at being forced to leave my warm chair and opened the door.

It was Raoul.

---{---{---((0))

**In honor of my early graduation, I giveth thee two chapters for thou to readeth and revieweth. I think this chapter meets the definition of a filler chapter but – my muse has finally fallen off the ****deep and and ran screaming away from me sometime last Sunday. The only inspiration given to me was that little cliff-hanger.**


	8. Of Paranoia and Planning

"Hi Raoul."

"Hey, Christine." He rubbed the back of his neck. He does this when he's nervous. He's so cute.

"Do you want to come in?" I opened the door all of the way.

"Sure, I guess." He walked in and stood awkwardly next to the counter.

"Well, come in. Have a seat. Do you want tea? Coffee?"

"No thanks."

"So..."

"Where have you been? You just disappeared. Do you-"

"I know. I know. I wish I could tell you." I ran my hand through my hair. Raoul grabbed my hand. I winced. No one spoke for a long time. When I looked up at him, I saw the tears and the betrayal in his eyes. I felt so evil, so cruel, so – so dirty.

"I – I guess I know now. I'm sorry for wasting your time." He got up and went to the door. I grabbed his arm.

"Raoul – let me explain."

"You don't need to. I understand."

"No you don't! Just listen to me!"

He turned back to me, the tears staining his face. "I love you, Christine. I'm not sure I could take it."

"I swear to you, I don't love him! Just let me tell you the story!"

He reluctantly took his seat in the armchair again. "What happened?" His voice was cold, like he was trying not to look as hurt as I knew he felt. I wish I could help him.

"I got up to go to the bathroom and there was someone there. Do remember when I told you about my voice teacher?"

He nodded. "That creep with the mask?"

"Yeah. All I remember was something black in the corner of my eye and then – nothing. I don't know how long I was unconscious, but when I came to, I was at his house. He had made up a room just for me. It was beautiful. It was almost creepy, though how close it was to my tastes. The clothes in the closet fit me perfectly.

"He told me he loved me. I should have seen it coming. I'm so stupid. I want to kick myself when I think of all the times I could have just transferred or turned him into the police. Oh god, I'm an idiot.

"That night we had dinner. He had cooked alfredo for me. I drank glass after glass of wine. I don't even remember how many I had, I just remember that the glass never seemed to be empty. After dinner, Erik took me into his study and tricked me into signing some papers. When I woke up the next morning, Erik told me that the papers were a marriage license."

"I'll kill him," Raoul whispered.

"I tried. It's not possible. Erik's fast. Really fast. I tried to stab him – obviously, I failed. I felt so bad afterwards. Did I ever tell you about the time I took off his mask?"

"You've seen underneath?"

"Yes. I won't lie – he looks dead. He looks like somebody died and was left out in the woods for a few weeks. The skin he has on his face is riddled with oozing, open sores. You can see the veins pulsing and the muscles shifting underneath the transparent membrane. And – there are some places on his face... oh, it is so gross, Raoul – there are places where he has no flesh at all... just exposed bone. I still see it when I close my eyes at night. He is so horrible. And the worst part – he'll never let me go. Not now. He told me that he has the police in his pocket. They would just return me to him."

"And now – I am afraid for you, Raoul. He's jealous. Really jealous. I think that he would kill you if it meant keeping me. He might just kill you because you are in his way. He is so horrible. There is no escape."

"Then why are you here now?"

"He let me go... temporarily. I have until Christmas." It sounded like I was announcing that I was dying of cancer. Like I only had a few months to get my affairs in order. Like I would never see anyone I had ever met again. Maybe I wouldn't.

"What are we going to do?" Dear Raoul.

"We could try to make a run for it. He'll be busy for awhile now. We would need some time to get plans together. And to get some money... but I think we could do it. How does Mexico sound?"

"As long as I'm with you, it doesn't matter where we are." I felt my heart swell. Raoul always knew what to say.

I hugged him. There was no need to kiss – all we needed was that tender support.

-((0))

We laid on the couch together for hours, just watching movies. I think the only time either one of us moved was when Raoul got up to pay the pizza guy. It felt so good just to bask in that warmth. There is something about touching another human being – not sex necessarily, just holding them close and sharing their body heat, that makes you feel whole and loved any happy. Just to feel content.

I drowned out that little warning voice in the back of my head. The paranoid little voice that said that Erik had been listening. That Erik knew.

-((0))

I had forgotten how much I loved school. I loved just being around the people – sitting and talking for awhile with someone I had never seen before and would never see again in the library. I loved talking about the weather with someone in the lunch line. I loved the cacophony of walking down the hallway of music practice rooms. I loved talking to Meg. I loved the sunlight. I loved laying out near the pond on the cool grass just to enjoy the fresh air. I loved life.

-((0))

"We should probably move to a large city."

"Mexico City? I really don't know any cities in Mexico."

"Mexico City sounds good to me. Should we risk flying?"

"No. I don't think so."

"You're right – too much of a paper trail."

"How about train?"

"Better than flying. I don't think he'll suspect it as quickly."

"I see. It'll give us just a little more time."

"I think we should also wait to buy the tickets. He could be checking through all of my bills."

"Good. Do you think we'll pull this off?"

"Sure. Mexico's a great place to hide. He won't be able to find us in a city that big." I hated lying.

That was the opportune moment that my phone rang. I checked the caller ID. Unknown.

"I think it's Erik. This'll be a long conversation. You better go, Raoul."

"OK." He reluctantly walked out my door. I sat on the armchair and flipped my phone open.

"Hello?"

"Good afternoon, Christine." I was right. I could feel myself melting at his voice. My resolve was starting to evaporate.

"I would wish you good afternoon, but I don't really know what time zone you're in."

"Have you enjoyed your time in the sun, my dear?"

"Yes... it has been beautiful all week. I spent all of yesterday afternoon just enjoying the fresh air."

He was frowning. I could tell. "I knew you would like to be outside. How are your classes going. I saw that you have Professor Laglov. Is he giving you any trouble?"

"No. Nothing I can't handle." If I said anything else, they'd find poor Laglov stringed up in front of the CamBell.

"Hmmm..."

"Really. I didn't turn something in. I deserved it."

"Hmmm... you should be sure to keep up with your work, dear. You've always wanted to graduate."

"I have. When will you call next?"

"I do not know. It depends on the... _situation_ I find myself in."

"OK."

"I noticed that that de Chagny boy is still attending. I trust you have steered clear of him? It would not do for my wife to have an affair."

"I haven't seen him since the night he-"

"Sounds good. Have you been practicing? I will not let you slack off when it comes to your voice."

"No, Erik," I said tiredly. "I have practiced every day, I swear."

"Good. You sound exhausted. Get some sleep. I will call again soon. Good night, Christine."

"Good night, Erik."

-((0))

**Manah, manah. I like that song. Go watch the YouTube for it right now. Do, doo, do, do, do. **

**Our _dear _Christine hasn't realized that Evil Erik already knows of her plot. I wonder how far he will let her get – find out on one of the next episodes of _Cold Heat_. Dun. Dun. Dun.**

**Don't you hate locked WLAN? I can't stand it. You know the wireless is out there. You can almost touch it. But, damn it, you can't connect. It's like watching the Food Network when you're hungry. **

**If you can't tell – I'm really bored. When I'm bored, inspiration for everything starts spewing out of my ears. Right now I have Debussy's Claire de Lune, Brahms Rhapsody Op. 79 No. 2, and the 1812 Overture playing all at the same time in my head. Does that make me insane?**

**Oh – I almost forgot. Pastheart, I feel like an idiot. I could make a bunch of stupid excuses for my stupidity – but you probably don't want to read them anyways. I should have realized that wasn't your story.**

**(posted 05-26-10)**


	9. Of Coffee and Clubs

That night was the first night of the nightmares. I always used to sleep like a rock all through the night. Not anymore. I dreamed the same scene over and over again. I was running. He was chasing. The place I was running was always different, but one thing was the same – he always caught me. It didn't matter where I ran. It didn't matter where I hid. He always found me.

-((0))

My dining room table was a mess of maps, receipts, and fliers. I really hadn't taken very difficult classes, so singing and planning for the Escape took up most of my time.

Erik had called every day. He sounded so lonely and so heartbroken without me. I felt like a treacherous, slimy, two-faced bitch every time I told him good night for the last three months.

-((0))

I sat in the sweltering practice room. I had already practiced Costa Diva so many times that I was sure that I was humming it in my sleep. I stared at the piano for what seemed to be an hour. I had never learned how to play – it had always been Erik's domain. I knew how to find middle C and all... but that was it. I could find a note, but I had no idea how to make music on the piano.

I walked over and touched the middle C key. I pressed it down and listened to the tone. I counted up and found an A. That was the note Erik had said that Casta Diva started on. I hummed the piece and tried to find the second note.

Too high. Not high enough. I had to start over. A. I sat at the piano for what seemed like forever, but when I was done, I could play the entire tune of Casta Diva. I left so happy that I wasn't even irritated when I tripped over the curb.

-((0))

Raoul opened the door for me. It was so sweet. I loved it when he treated me like this. Or at least that was what I tried to tell myself.

"Little Latte? Really?" I smiled at him.

"I couldn't resist. I heard they had a band playing tonight." It was so easy to make Raoul happy.

"Really? Do know who's in the band?"

"Not really, but my roommate Mark recommended them."

"Mark? And you trusted him?"

"Well... I did Google them too... Come on – it's just coffee, if they are absolutely terrible, I'll buy lunch tomorrow."

"You forget," I grinned, "that you, monsieur, are buying lunch tomorrow anyways."

"Ah, I'm guilty," he put his hands up. "Don't shoot."

I laughed.

I looked at the barista. "Hmmm... I'll have a grande mocha latte."

"Whipped cream?"

"Why not?"

"I'd like a regular cappuccino."

"You mean a tall?" Annoying, stuck-up barista.

"Whatever."

"Ten ninety-seven."

I turned into Raoul's shoulder. "You know you shouldn't order anything caffeinated. You remember freshman year don't you?"

He chuckled. "Yeah. Maybe we should just stay up all night Little Lotte. You know, go clubbing or something. Something fun..."

"I would love to. There's no school tomorrow. Let's listen to the band for awhile, then go out to that new club – Phantasma. I'm curious to see if it's any good." This was a bad idea. You see, Erik forbid me to drink anything stronger than wine while he was teaching me. I should have said no. I should have. But, I didn't.

"Sounds great! Let's grab our coffees and go. I think Phantasma is on the East End."

I smiled. "Let's go."

He was right it took us 45 minutes to get across town. You could tell that we were entering a better part of town. Campus is on the West End because land there was always cheap. It's a kind of seedy area where busts happen every other night. It was the kind of neighborhood you didn't walk through at night.

The West End, however, was the prized gem of the city. "Luxury" apartments graced the sky, and the politics were the only visible dirt. Phantasma seemed to appear out of nowhere. One night, a large neon sign was lighted in a dark juncture between buildings. Even the critics loved it.

Raoul and I walked down the long red carpet and the bouncer looked at Raoul and hesitated. His gaze shifted to me and immediately, he was bowing and scraping, opening the rope for us and wishing us a good evening. I shrugged, but the curiosity still niggled at the back of my mind.

I loved clubs. You walked through the door and it was an immediate sensory overload. The bass vibrated through my ribs and the lights pulsed behind my eyes. Raoul grabbed us a table on the balcony and a waitress appeared and took our orders. I ordered a Nutty Irishman and Raoul ordered an After Five. After a few more, the dance floor was looking better and better. Damn good bartender.

"Ya wanna dance, Raoul?"

"'d love ta."

We staggered down the steps and onto the dance floor. Sweaty bodies intertwined, kept only from their goals by the pesky bits of cloth intervening. The music pulsed an irresistible primal beat, and all were called to come join the dance. Feet beat the dance floor. The lights pulsed. The drinks were poured and clinked delicately against one another, with a rowdy shout of "Cheers!" following. Time lapsed into something unimportant. We had forever to dance. The urgency, though. We needed to dance now. One shot after another.

_I warned you, Christine._

I passed out.

-((0))

I hate to kill things. Even if they are an already half-dead bumblebee. It's almost as if I can feel the life leave it. I can't imagine how I'd feel to be around a person who died. I apologize... my morbid musings get away from me sometimes...

**Short chapter, I know. Another thing – I hope I did the club justice. Personally, I have never stepped into a club in my life.**

**Lonely, I'm feeling so lonely, I have no-body to call my oooown... Anybody want to Beta? A spelling Nazi with an interesting past would be good. I need someone who is not afraid to tell me if a chapter sucks. Crazy ideas for this story would also be appreciated.**

**(posted 05-28-10)**


	10. Of Otello and Desdemona

"Uuuugh... what happened last night?" I groped for the light switch to find the magical white tablets that would end the massive pounding in my head. I remembered the lights that now throbbed in my head and the pulse of the music that left a distinct feeling of nausea in the top of my stomach. I rolled off the bed and crawled towards the toilet. At least I had been in my own bed.

"I swear I'll never drink again." I retched. I leaned against the cool wall and rested my feverish head against the cold tile. I just sat there as still as I could, trying to quell the nausea. "Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid." I laid there for a long time thinking about how much trouble I was in with Erik. He'd probably be able to tell that I had been sick. Damn it. He knew me too well. I wouldn't be able to lie to him. I was screwed. Erik would never let me go after this.

I was going to escape, I remembered. I would never have to deal with Erik again. Raoul and I would go down to Mexico, get married, maybe buy a ranch... our life would be wonderful. Erik would never be able to find us in Mexico. I could almost picture sitting on the veranda of a beautiful white hacienda, drinking cold lemonade and watching the cowboys ride by. There would be too much sun for Erik.

Maybe, Raoul and I would live in a beautiful house in the middle of Mexico City. The tropical flowers would lazily stretch up the tall garden walls and the city would thrive just beyond that wall. Erik would not like Mexico City – too many people. He would never find us in a mass of people that large.

Our plan was flawless. A train trip down to the border, then another train to Mexico City. We would finally be safe. If I was lucky, maybe I could even perform at the opera house there.

Raoul and I would get married in a beautiful, old cathedral in an old-fashioned Catholic Mass. I would wear a beautiful, long white dress and Raoul would wear a classic tux. I sighed. It was too beautiful of a vision for Erik to encroach upon. He would never find us.

-((0))

We had two weeks left now to the escape. I had been checking the news reports and had started packing. Mexico was hot wasn't it?

I was also trying to brush up on my Spanish. I had taken Spanish in high school just like everybody else, but who really remembers any of it four years later? I thought I'd be O.K. I had four years under my belt, what could go wrong?

Every night, after I would finish practicing my voice, I would sit there and pluck out my vocal accompaniments on the piano. Most nights, I would slam the lid of the piano – my hands could never reach that far! No one's could! Stupid idiots. I was practicing for our concert. We always had a fall concert the night before Thanksgiving break started. It was not a really big affair – usually the auditorium was only half-full. It was required, though; you failed chorus if you missed any of the concerts. It was stupid of me to care – but I did. One of the reasons I cared was my solo. I was to sing a short aria from Othello – Ave Maria. Have you heard it? No, I thought not. It is the aria that Desdemona sings right before her jealous husband strangles her. It is an invocation to the heavens. She realizes that there is nothing she can do – that she is doomed to die, yet she still prays to God and begs for mercy for all sinners. I almost felt like Desdemona. Erik loved me so much.

He told me so every night. Every night he would call just to "hear my angelic voice" and "give me an outlet for my frustrations." He tried so hard. I could tell. I almost felt bad about running away – no, I did feel bad about it. I couldn't imagine the pain it would put Erik through. I was a terrible person.

Raoul was starting to get uneasy about my wanting to run away.

-((0))

"Are you listening?"

"Yes, of course, honey." No. I hadn't been. I was thinking about music and the person synonymous with music.

"I got train tickets yesterday – they still had some first-class tickets open. We were lucky."

"Hmmm... yeah. Coach sucks."

"We stop in the very southern part of Texas in a little town called-... Christine!"

"Sorry."

He threw his papers down. "Do you even want to go?"

"Of course I do. I want to be able to be with you."

"Then why do you keep _his_ ring on?" Raoul spat angrily.

Forbidden territory. Very forbidden territory. My voice was low when I answered, "You know why I have to wear this thing. Don't think for a moment that I wear it voluntarily. Never, never think that."

"How do I know that you aren't playing me?"

"I don't kiss men I don't love." I grabbed him and pulled him into one of those kisses you see at the end of a Hollywood movie. But there was no fire. No passion. I realized in that moment that there had never been any heat in our kisses. I was a horrible person. But – I needed Raoul to escape. I was going to go to Hell.

-((0))

Raoul noticed me getting more and more nervous as time got closer to the concert. My nerves made him get antsier. I think he was finally realizing who we were up against. I was beginning to think that there was no hope. That the only thing we could do was delay the inevitable. No, I told myself. We would get out. We would make it. We would be just fine. We would get married, maybe even have kids.

There would be no Erik. There would be no shadows to smother our happiness. It would be perfect – all of it.

Looking back on it, I probably should have taken the opportunity to run before the concert. I should have gone with Raoul when he offered. He had been right.

-((0))

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

"I want to sing – at least this one last time."

"He could be coming tonight. You know that." He watched me put on my makeup.

"We'll be fine. Tomorrow, we'll be on our way and there will be nothing he will be able to do to stop us." I took off the ring and set it on the counter. I stood before the full-length mirror, checking my appearance one last time.

"You look beautiful."

"I love you, Raoul." We kissed for one long moment. He held me and I finally pushed away. "I have to go. I'll see you after the show."

"I love you, Christine."

I glanced back at my dressing room table. The ring was gone. I would find it later, I told myself. It would all be just fine.

How does love happen? Or, better yet, why? Is it something that we are born with, a special connection that is latent until we meet that special person? Or is it simply a bond we develop with a person if the conditions are right? Is it fate or destiny? Or, is it merely another mechanism to ensure the survival of the human race? Where does it come from? I stepped on stage.

_Hail, Mary, hail! In grace o'erflowing,_

The orchestra shifted into a darker chord.

_The Lord Himself is with thee, _

I looked into the black depths of the audience.

_The Lord Himself is with thee,_

I could feel the darkness around me.

_Thou blest above all women, blest be thy Offspring,_

I could almost touch it.

_The Fruit of thy maternal love – Jesus!_

My voice slid gracefully up to the major chord.

_Pray thou for them who kneeling do adore thee,_

Something was wrong.

_Pray thou for sinners, too, pray for the holy,_

I could feel it.

_Pray for great and mighty, pray for meek and lowly,_

I knew the truth.

_Pray for the mourners lying prostrate before thee._

I could not run any longer.

_Pray for all who bow 'neath thee yoke of cruel oppression, for the poor and brokenhearted,_

He was here.

_Pray thou for us, O Mary, pray for us always_

There was no escape...

_And in that hour – when we in death are lying, _

He knew.

_Pray for our souls, pray for our souls, our souls - _

I knew.

_Pray for our souls - _

Should I make a run for it?

_When we in death are lying._

He would catch me anyways.

_A-men! _

My voice hit the high A and soared over the audience.

_Amen._

One last plead – spare me!

The auditorium went dark.

-((0))

**Hey y'all! Sorry about the late update and all, but with a 15 hour time difference between my new Beta, PHLover213, well... oh, well. (Hint, hint: She'd probably enjoy your reviews as well...)**

**Thanks for reading!**

**(posted 06-07-10)**


	11. Of Fire and Ash

I remember drifting in and out of consciousness for the longest time. I dreamt the same dream over and over again, but I could never recall what it was about – merely cold - the endless cold. It was the shivering that woke me. This was wrong. Mexico was warm – wasn't it? I was lying against a body. It was cold. This was wrong. Raoul was warm. It didn't make any sense. My skin burned. My bones were cold. This was wrong. Where was I? It was too much effort to open my eyes. I wish I could move – move away from whatever was holding me. I didn't have the will to. So I sat in its bony, cold embrace, shivering and burning.

Erik. The word floated into my mind. I tried to grasp it, but it slid away, slippery as a politician evading an answer.

Erik. Who was Erik? Angel of Music. Strange name for an angel... Rafael, Ariel, Michael, Erik? No. He wasn't an angel. Then who was he? I could feel a torrent of emotions, threatening my peace. I shoved it away. No. This was the most peaceful I had felt since... since _he_ came into my life. Who was _he_? Erik.

Why couldn't I think? Why didn't I want to? Where had I been? I was singing. It was... never mind. I was singing on the stage. The college stage. Yes. I was going to leave. We were going to Mexico. Raoul and I were going. We were going to be free. Free of what? What were we running from?

Erik. He had known. He had known since when? Maybe... maybe he had gotten done early. He had been at the club. He knew that I was planning on running away. He knew that I had drank that horrible hard liquor. He had known that I took my ring off.

He was angry, then. He had kidnapped me again. I would never be free again. I absently wondered if Raoul was still alive. If he had been in that auditorium with Erik... in the dark... no one would have heard or paid any attention to one small crack of a breaking neck bone in the middle of a round of applause.

Where were we going? I summoned up the energy to open my eyes. A lot of good that did me – it was dark. Pitch black. The only thing that was not swallowed up by the blackness was Erik's eyes. They glowed with an unrecognizable emotion. A barely controlled passion.

"Where are we?" I croaked.

"Shh... my dear. You mustn't speak so soon after waking."

I struggled bit to get out of Erik's grasp. It was a futile effort. He was stronger than I could ever hope to be.

"Now, now. You should have told me you wanted to see Mexico. I would have acquiesced to your request much sooner."

"We're in Mexico?"

"No better place to hide, is there? In the middle of a crowd?"

"Hide from what?"

He didn't answer, merely shifting me in his grasp. "Are you cold? I feel I must apologise. I am not as warm as your _boy_."

"Please, Erik. I -"

"You what? Were planning to leave me forever? Were planning on marrying that puny little miscreant that dare think about what is mine? You are mine. Forever. Do you hear me?" his voice made Antarctica sound warm.

He was squeezed me too tightly. I was going to break. I cried out. He held me a little looser.

"Why?" he asked, sounding like he was already burning in the fires of Hell. "I guess this is my punishment – to love. To love and never know if my love is returned. Coming back every day hoping for some kind of affection... some kind of love and never receiving it. To hope forever and never let go. Never give up. I love you, Christine. Forever."

He sounded so sad. No person could hear him speak his love and not have their heart melted by his pain.

I felt like I did not deserve to crawl at his shoes. I was so horrible. What more could I have done to destroy him? Here was a man that ruled ruthlessly, brought down only by me – a pathetic loser. I was the evil one. I had trampled all over his poor heart, dragged it through the mud. I was ashamed of myself.

"I'm sorry." Pathetic, I know, but what else do you say in a situation like this. I am no orator – I failed Speech. I didn't know what else I could say. I touched Erik's neck. "I'm sorry." He tensed under my touch and jerked his head. His skin was so cold, yet it burned. I could feel his pulse under my fingers, the only real proof that he was actually, alive.

He sighed, trying to relax. "I love you, Christine."

"Thank you."

He held me close, trying to share what little warmth my body had left. Finally, he shifted and set me down on the still-cold couch. "Give me a moment. I know you are cold."

I nodded and he disappeared silently into the darkness. My body was too sore to shiver anymore. It was pointless anyways. Suddenly, sparks appeared before me and Erik was illuminated, nursing a small fire in what looked like a normal fireplace. I stumbled off the couch and crouched closer to the fire searching desperately for warmth.

Have you ever been cold for a long period of time? After you feel that chill set in to your very flesh, you cannot help yourself. It is impossible not to reach for any source of heat there is. Even when it burns, you can't pull away for fear of being cold again.

"Erik, what did you do to Raoul?"

"Do what, dear?"

"Did you kill him?" I was dangerously calm – standing on the edge of a cliff, looking down, disinterestedly at my death.

"What is it that you wish to hear, Christine? That I killed him in cold blood? That I tortured your lover until he begged for me to wrap my noose around his neck? That I was merciful and spared him the pain I felt?"

"Erik! Did you or did you not kill him?" I was starting to lose my hard-earned patience.

"Why should I tell you, my wife? Hmmm? Why is my darling wife so concerned with another man?"

"Erik," I said through my teeth, "Answer the question. Did you kill the man I love?"

"No, I am right here, beside you. Why ever would I kill myself?"

"Did you kill Raoul?"

"And what if I did? What would you do? Report me to the police? Attend his funeral? Weep over his goddamn corpse!" He turned until his face was completely cloaked in shadows. His voice was soft – deadly. "And what if I didn't? What difference would it be to you? You would never see him again anyways. No. Never again shall you see him. You are _mine,_ Christine, _mine_. For forever and a day. Nevermore shall you see Raoul."

"So he is dead?"

"Yes."

"Did you murder him?"

"Stop speaking to me as if I was a child! Of course, I killed him! Why deny myself that beautiful pleasure of hearing his neck crack? Or of the delicacy of hearing his pathetic little whimper as my noose closed around his throat?

"No. I killed Raoul de Chagny. You shall never have to deal with him again. He will never bother us, my darling wife. Never again."

What do you say when someone confesses to murder not a foot away from you? I certainly did not know. Should I have yelled at him? I was in so much pain though, that I could say nothing. Tears tracked down my face as I dragged myself out of the room.

I was amazed that he let me go. I walked on and on, unfamiliar with this new house. I just wanted to get as far away from him as I could. How could he have done this to me? I had known Raoul _forever_. We loved each other, I know we did. We would have been happy together, but not like this. I realized that we would not have been happy, running all of the time. It would have slowly corroded our relationship. If I hadn't been so stupid and weak-willed, this would have never have happened. I should have just reported Erik to the police, to the school, anybody. I should have told someone. It was all my fault. It was my fault that I was in Mexico. It was my fault that I had been kidnapped. It was my fault that Raoul was dead. I curled up in the end of the hallway and cried. _It was all my fault._

**-((0))**

**Thank you for your review, AngelPhantom777. I guess I really don't see myself as very funny. My idea of hilarious is one of those foppish, hormonal Geriks tripping in his man cave being strangled by his own cravat. **

**Anyways... PHLover213 and I are compelling YOU to review. That's right – you. (a.k.a. My beta will use her amazing boomerang to get you if you don't.) By my calculations (puts on coke bottle glasses and grabs ancient calculator and chewed-up pencil) only one in three hundred people who have read this story have actually reviewed. It's O.K. if you're shy (I am too - it took me more than a year to post my first fanfiction). I don't bite, I promise (not very hard, anyways). **

**How do people come up with those numbers after their name, anyways? Like Katie (a good friend, read _Dreams_) has this name that is something like keegdnab487 (bandgeek backwards). I don't get it.**


	12. Of Blood and War

Sometimes I wish I could just faint like the women in old movies or just cry myself to sleep, wake up, and have the world feel sorry about upsetting me and fix itself. I wish I could say that I locked myself in my room for days. I wish. But, life sucks.

I lay at the end of that hallway for what seemed like hours. I'll admit it – I'm not a noble person. I am no hero. I've always just been that person that bypassed the homeless person and felt no guilt for not giving them money. I will admit that I am a selfish person. I realize this now. The reason I got up from the end of that damn hall was the simple fact that I had to pee.

With nature's call satisfied, I started looking around for my bedroom. The dark, dank hallways seemed to close in around me as I searched for the door to my room. Why, you ask, did I not try to find the way out? I may be selfish, but I'm not stupid. Erik would never leave the door unlocked or even visible. And even if I did somehow get outside, we were in Mexico, probably illegally, and even though I took Spanish for four years in high school, I don't think I could hold a conversation in Spanish. And, even if by some miracle, I made it back to the U.S., Erik would find me. So escape would be pointless. So, instead, I looked for my bedroom. I finally concluded that there was either just one bedroom in the house, or Erik had hidden the other room's door so well that I didn't have a chance at finding it.

I entered the one bedroom that I could find. It was clearly and obviously Erik's room. It was perfectly suited to his tastes. Black and blood-red silks were draped from the walls and the bed (amazing – he actually sleeps in a bed sometimes) was a grand, red affair that took up most of the room. Now, this bed was assuredly red. There was no other color to be found on it. Every shade of red from crimson to maroon was used on the bed. It was, in a macabre way, beautiful. The whole room almost seemed... sensual. It scared me. I was tired – ready to collapse, but I thought of the implications to sleeping in his bed. I sat there and thought for a moment. He would probably set me in this bed even if I fell asleep somewhere else. I was too tired to care, though. I crawled into the bed, clothes and all, and fell deeply asleep, cocooned in those bloody sheets.

-((0))

I awoke to see only two golden specks in my vision. I jumped. It was like being locked in a closet; there was no light – except those two glowing eyes that were almost swallowed by the hungering blackness.

"How long have you been there?" I groggily wondered.

"All night." Thought so.

I sat up and hugged my knees. I felt the bed depress where my legs were.

"I love you."

I remained silent.

He sighed. "We will be leaving for my house here in about a week."

"Where are we going?"

"You will know soon enough."

I slapped him. I felt his mask fall off. The room instantly got colder.

"Why do you have to be so – so secretive?" I hissed. "All I asked was a simple question... where are we going?"

"Why must I answer you? Erik answers to none but himself."

"Go to hell."  
"I am already there – haven't you noticed?"

"I hate you."

"I know you don't. If you'll remember, you didn't exactly object to my kisses." I just know he was smirking. I wanted to slap the living daylights out of the bastard. "And – you did decide to come to my bed last night."

I tried to slap him again. He grabbed my forearm and pulled me in close to his body. "Let... me... go!" I struggled against him. Which, I repeat once more, was pointless. I should have known that he'd win. He always does. There was nothing I could do when he pulled me in for that kiss. I was a lost cause. I couldn't control it. I had to have more. It was an addiction.

Now that I look back, I think I finally know what scared me so much. When you are about to jump out of the plane, you would think that one would be worried about the parachute. No. The real thing that scares you is that you are afraid that you will not be there at the end of the jump, whether the parachute opens or not. It isn't the trust in the parachute. That is irrelevant. It is the trust that the part of you that makes you yourself will still be intact.

I was so afraid to fall in love with Erik not because I was afraid our attraction. I was so afraid that he would completely absorb that which makes me who I am. If I handed him over my heart and soul on a silver platter, he would suck the life right out of them. I would be left an empty shell, nothing like the person I am today.

With that in mind, I wanted Erik in some way. It may be twisted, but I – I wanted some piece of him. Not sexually... no... deeper than that... I wanted Erik. I wanted his music. I wanted his power. I wanted his darkness, his cold chill. He wanted my light, and I suppose that I wanted his darkness. We fed off of each other.

I could feel his anger, pulsating just below the surface, unleashing itself slowly through the aggressiveness of our kiss. I could feel his pain being salved by my mere presence. I could feel his heart reaching out hopefully, begging for the shred of affection it had long been denied.

Eventually I pulled away for air. He slowly came back to his right mind and realized that he lay on top of me. He silently rolled off and disappeared into the darkness once more.

I sighed. I was awake now. There was no use in trying to go back to sleep. I sat up once more and searched for a light. Nothing. Predictable. Damn glow in the dark eyes doesn't need light.

I felt for a wall. There. I felt along the wall, hoping for some type of door. Curtains. Velvet with some kind of embroidery, I think. I tried to move them to find a window, but instead found something sharp. I hissed as I felt the edge of some kind of knife cut my hand even worse as I yanked it away. What kind of freak had that kind of blade in their _bedroom_? Was he expecting someone to try and kill him in his sleep? I thought back to my clumsy attempt at killing him. It seemed like it was a lifetime ago. I was reminded of my situation as I felt something trickling down my hand. It kind of tickled like a spider. I could feel the hand pulsing, but the pain had faded. I kept my good hand along the wall, a little more cautious this time. My hand fell onto the wooden handle of something and I barely had time to jump back before it crashed to the ground.

Erik burst into the room, leaving a small gray patch of light at the empty door. I felt him pick me up.

"Are you alright?" He saw my hand and moaned.

"Stupid question," I forced out. "A little light would be nice."

He left me briefly and soon I could see a warm glow starting to envelop the room. I looked around me for the first time and gasped, my pain forgotten.

"Oh my God," I said slowly. Every inch of the walls was covered by some weapon. Spears, short knives, long knives, curved knives, and jagged knives like the one I saw that I had cut myself on. There were pistols, shot guns, bows and arrows, even an odd noose. "Holy fucking shit."

Erik had returned with bandages and was starting to clean out my wound. I winced. It stung.

"Hold still. You cut yourself on my medieval jagged-bladed broadsword. You were lucky not to be cleaved in two by that mace you knocked down." I looked at the massive piece of metal that had cut me. It just looked vicious. The tarnished handle was bound with leather and I swear that the sword was longer than I am tall. What really surprised me about the blade was the cross engraved at the hilt. Erik caught me staring at it.

"I thought you weren't religious."

"I'm not. This sword," he picked it up off the wall and examined it, "was used in the Crusades, I believe. I thought the irony of it all was amusing. That those that preached forgiveness and peace used a weapon that causes the most horrific of injuries in their quest to spread their religion." He paused and replaced the sword, now reaching for the spiked mace, "And, well, their quest for money... power. It is what drives us all, I suppose."

"What about love?"

"What about it? I suppose it may drive us to some point. But, what is love? Is it merely the addiction for another person? Is it greed for... well them? To want power over them? To want their very heart and soul?" He looked at me. I shuddered. He wanted me. All of me – heart, mind, soul... body.

I would not give in. Yet, as he kissed me again, I could feel a part of me surrendering to Erik's will.

-((0))

**(Psst, it's the beta, PHLover213 here. EVERYONE has to review to tell our brilliant author just how brilliant she is, OK? Good.)**

**-((0))**

**(shakes head, blushes, and smacks forehead) Gotta love my beta. I never check through anything after I typed it (except maybe a random spellcheck here and there), so my beta keeps me from typing "saw" when I meant "was." **

**Any ideas on where our couple is going? PHLover213 votes Switzerland. They were in the U.S. somewhere. I think maybe near Chicago... maybe New York...**

**Oh! One last thing. EmanuelleG, I made Christine slap Erik just for you. I agree; he is a complete pity whore.**


	13. Of Amadas and Español

**A bit of history on this chapter... the middle piece of it is actually from another work of mine, written while visiting Mexico.**

**Without further ado... lucky number 13...**

**-((0))**

He left me alone then... Miraculously. I sat there and thought for a long time. I thought about Erik. I thought about me. I thought about the music that bound us together for better or for worse. Eventually, I got up and started searching the room for fresh clothes. After a good shower, shave, and clean set of clothes I was feeling like life could start looking up again.

I started to wander the house. I wondered where Erik was, but quickly quashed the thought. I tried all of the doors I came on, finding rooms with everything from ancient paintings to a small kitchen. I finally came on the door. There was nothing special about its look. It looked like all of the rest of the doors, but when I opened it... there was a staircase going up. We were underground, I realized. I quickly shut the door quietly behind me, cursing as it groaned on its hinges. I climbed the stairs and then... sunlight streamed in, blindingly white. Such beautiful pain! I ran through the desolate streets, not minding where I was heading to, merely running, trying not to think of whom I was running from. I ran. People started to creep from the shadows of the alleys, staring at a porcelain doll, head topped with gold that eyes hungered for. Dirty faces turned towards me silently questioning my presence.

Finally a man spoke up. His black gun glinted in the noontide sun.

"Please sir, could you repeat that?"

He did. I understood not a word of it. Spanish. I was screwed.

"Do you understand English?"

"Americano. Madre de Dios." He turned to the crowd, quickly speaking in a dialect that was gibberish to me, pointing his big, black gun around. The crowd melted away. He turned to me and pointed with his gun to follow. I trailed behind, terrified, not knowing what was coming next. We walked for ages, down dry, dusty streets, barren of anything, but sharp gray rocks, starting to poke through the bottom of my shoes. We walked into poorer and poorer neighborhoods, filled with unfinished houses that were crowned with wires like the weeds that had godforsaken barren ground below.

We finally came upon a house with a rough wooden door. The man opened it and showed me inside. I reluctantly entered looking at his big black gun warily. He called out joyously and a short woman turned and ran to embrace him, soup ladle still in hand. The woman then noticed me, looking awkwardly around and questioned her husband. He answered in the same gibberish. They conversed and she smiled warmly at me and motioned me over to the table.

"Pobrecita," she said.

"Pobrecita," the man agreed.

The woman ladled out soup into two bowls, setting one in front of me and the other in front of her husband. It was excellent soup. The woman took my bowl and I got up to help her.

"No, no, no." She led me back to the table. I sat once more. The man stood up, told her something, and walked out. I watched as she scrubbed the dishes feeling horribly useless. She then pulled out some brown papers and started painting colorful birds and flowers on them. Scenes of people dancing together, scenes of two birds courting, scenes of towns, scenes of the countryside. All of them were happy. All of them had color to an almost obnoxious degree. She painted by the light, and as it faded, she was forced to set aside her work and start to rekindle the fire. I jumped as someone knocked at the door.

-\-/-((0))

The woman warmly opened the door and then froze. His voice issued from behind the door. His perfect voice spoke this gibberish so fluently, it was like honey. The woman responded, pleased and let him in. His eyes instantly met mine. I was mesmerized like a bird caught in a snake's gaze.

"Come." I could not resist. He pressed several coins into the woman's hand, thanking her. She smiled and hugged me. She released me, smiling and retreated into the house, counting the coins. He wrapped his arm around my waist and I pulled away automatically. He pulled me closer. "I would not do that, were I you," he explained. "I would prefer not to drug you, but I will if I have to." I sighed and gave in, allowing him to grasp me tight to him. The night was black. No stars shone above and no moon dared to light our way. I was cold, shivering against his thin frame. He held me tighter, wishing that he could warm me. He kept me from stumbling over the sharp rocks, guiding me towards his house of death, a silent solemn, but quick procession. We reached the gate, looming ominously above us, sharp black spears threatening to impale us, should we come any closer. He, however, released me and glided towards the door fearlessly. "Do not attempt it. You would not make it very far," he warned, the first words he had spoken since leaving the man with the big black gun's house. He walked through the gate, through the sharp black spears, through the decimeter of solid metal. I stood out alone on the dusty dry street, in the pitch black. I was terrified. Time froze as the dusty air lay still around, a silence to rival death stretched on.

The gate creaked open slowly and I stepped inside. It felt like I was accepting my defeat. He had won. Again. I looked at the barren yard and started to wonder where I had left the house from. There was nothing. No house, no garden, not even a shed. Erik materialized next to me.

"Come." I followed him. He was pissed. I could feel it. He was angry enough to hurt me. I don't think he had been this angry since I took off his mask. I knew that the best thing – no, the _only_ thing I could do now was just to follow his instructions.

He was walking towards the blank garden wall, gaining speed. He walked right _into_ the wall. And he disappeared into it...

I was afraid to say anything and far too afraid to even touch the wall. After a long period of silence, it opened with a soft grating sound of rock against rock. I was starting to feel sick. I was tired. I was hungry from our walk and all of the emotions running through me. I just wanted to collapse and never get up again. I walked back into the freezing cold darkness and shivered. Erik was waiting for me. Like a sinner on judgment day, I walked down the steps with great trepidation. It was pitch black at the end of the stair case and the door snapped shut behind me and the lock click – the only sounds in the deathly silent darkness. I whipped around and he was there, not a foot from my face. I could feel his heavy breaths on my face; I could feel his rage and his depression. I didn't dare say a word – it would set him off.

We stood there for eons, trying our hardest to not say what needed to be said. Finally, his eyes disappeared and I couldn't feel him anymore.

I didn't dare touch the door again. It was stupid of me to run in the first place. I was tired. I was sick of life. I just wanted to lay down and die.

I bumped into the walls, creating new bruises. I was past caring. Tears started to blur my vision as I was quickly losing the will to stand up. I didn't feel well. I rushed forward knowing I wasn't far from Erik's bedroom. I found the toilet and starting vomiting. It was disgusting. I laid down on the cold floor and tried to calm my queasy stomach. It was no use. I slowly fell asleep on the cold, hard floor, hoping Erik would find me soon.

-\-/-((0))

(**Beta again. I don't know how many reviews there'll be by the time this chapter is published, but damn it, we need more! I **_**may**_** be forced to hurt you. Just sayin')**

**-/-\-((0))**

**I just realized the religious undertones in this story. It is suprising to me – I am somewhat of a nihilist (I believe that there is no purpose to life and that we create "God" and religion to satisfy our desire for there to be a purpose. Depressed yet?) although I went to a Catholic school for 12 years.**

**And here is the point where I do a song and dance and ask you to either A) review, B) go read my other story and review it, and/or C) go read my profile. PHLover213 is begging me for Chapter 14, and, well, I write faster when I see all of your lovely reviews in my inbox.**

**(posted 06-18-10)**


	14. Of Wrongdoing and Forgiveness

**O.K. There are some parts of this that may be found offensive if read the wrong way. I modeled Christine out of the stereotype of the normal American that I discovered on my many travels. Needless to say, I have only met a few stupid Americans like that in my entire lifetime. **

-((0))

Erik found me laying there sometime late that night.

"Oh, Christine," he helped me sit up, "did you drink anything at that horrid house?"

I shook my head. "Just some kind of soup..."

He stood and rifled through the medicine cabinet. He handed me a small white pill and a glass of water.

"Take this."

I shook my head. "No. It won't go down."

"You have to... you have what the locals call Montezuma's revenge. It affects tourists who drink the unfiltered tap water."

I nodded and put the tablet on my tongue. It tasted worse than the bile. I reached for the glass and spilled most of it on myself. Erik grasped it and helped to pour it down my throat. I felt a lot worse. Erik grabbed me and set me on his lap, rubbing my back as I moaned feverishly.

He left me only a few times to go get some broth for me. I smelled at it and forced the bile down again, shoving the damn cup of soup as far away from me as I could. Erik seemed to understand. He just held me. Now that I look back on it I see that it is so beautifully simple. He wasn't trying to dominate me and I wasn't trying to run. But, right then, all I cared about was not puking my guts out.

-((0))

When I woke up, I remember the feeling of peace. For once, there was calm. I had an absolutely nasty taste in my mouth, but I was comfortable. I slowly realized that Erik was still holding me and that he had fallen asleep as well. I sighed, gently plucked off his mask and burrowed my head into his shoulder. I would fight with him later.

-((0))

I turned over in the silk sheets and realized that I was alone. Where was Erik? I stumbled out of bed and walked on shaky legs to the door. I leaned on the wall for a moment before gathering the will to go on. I made it to the den and flopped down on the couch. I laid there enjoying the silence of the house before I jolted up. Silence? My head spun from the sudden movement. There was no music playing.

That meant that Erik was either asleep or not here. Even when he wasn't playing an instrument himself, he always had to have some recording playing. He was probably arranging our travel.

I wondered where we were going to go. I only really spoke English, so I was hoping maybe that we would go to the U.K., maybe Australia. I racked my brain for what little I knew of both places. Australia was hot, wasn't it? It had desert called the... the Farback? No... the Outback. There would be Bushmen. They wore loincloths... right?

No, I thought. The U.K. would be better. I was kind of skeptical of the whole having a queen thing though.

How long was Erik planning on us staying there? A couple months? A couple years? Permanently?

I thought about what Erik would do. He would never settle in place with a lot of people around, so that pretty much ruled out most of Asia. I wondered about Russia, though. Siberia was famed for being a barren, desolate land. Kind of sounds like Erik's dream home. He would love the political conflict too. I shuddered. I hoped it wouldn't be Russia. I hated the cold. Not that I'd want to live in the Middle East, either. I would think that it would be annoying; getting all of that sand stuck everywhere. That and everyone seemed to be bombing everyone there. Iran was threatening nukes... the Palestinians and the Israelis were constantly trying to bomb each other to kingdom come and back... I don't think Erik would subject me to that kind of danger.

He would want some kind of tie to music. He would have to be close to some concert hall or opera house. That meant continental Europe somewhere. I thought about how I would love a villa on the Mediterranean Sea. Erik could do whatever the hell he wanted. I would lay out in the sun next to the blue sea and just nap. I'd probably burn to a crisp though. I tanned, but only after very nasty, blistering sunburn. That and I didn't think Erik was the beach type. I didn't even want to think of him without a shirt. Wait... maybe I did... just not on a sunny beach. I would be blinded. Did he ever go out into the sunlight? Probably not. Damn recluse.

Maybe Canada then... I heard there was a thriving pot business in British Columbia. He could go do his illegal... stuff, and I could – I could what? Go watch curling? No. Plus, we'd practically be next-door neighbors to Sarah Palin. Yuck.

"And what, my dear, are you thinking so deeply about?"

I just about jumped out of my skin. "How long have you been there?"

"About five minutes."

"Just – watching me?"

"Am I not allowed to look?"

"I guess," I sighed. "It is a bit creeperish though."

"Creeper-ish?"

"Something that someone does that is just a tad unsettling," I explained. "Of course, it is you we are talking about."

I could see the anger spark in his eyes. "Oh, really?" he said slowly. "And how might one become less... 'creeperish'?"

"You_could_ start by leaving me alone."

"Fine," he snapped and strode out of the room.

"Asshole," I muttered under my breath. The asshole that killed my boyfriend – no – my fiancé. Why should I ever forgive that rotting piece of flesh? Murderer. Druggie.

But that damn nice little voice in the back of my head whispered, _Musician. Man that loves you more than his life. He'll be with you forever. You know you can't keep a grudge that long. You would save yourself so much misery by just forgiving him. Never forget, but forgive._

I hated that little voice. It was always right. I never wanted to admit it, but I realized that I was going to be with Erik for a long time.

I could hear the organ playing with all of the stops pulled out. It was playing a massive anger, a fury too large to be described by mere words. I stopped. Was it really a good idea to disrupt him when he was this mad? One of two things would happen: he would either be ecstatic that I was going to forgive him or he would turn around and try to throttle me. I sighed and sucked up all of my courage. If he did try to throttle me – well, it would be an end to my misery.

I peeked around the door of the music room. This was a bad idea. I turned to leave. Unfortunately for me, I bumped the door on my way out. The organ went silent immediately. I turned back and saw Erik staring at me, his eyes pleading forgiveness.

"I... I..."I paused and then lost the will to say what I needed to tell him. I turned back around and tried to leave, but Erik caught me and spun me around to face him.

"You what?" His voice was dark with spent emotion, exhausted by anger too great to be held by one person.

"I forgive you. For... for... for killing Raoul." I tried to leave again, but his arms held me tightly.

"Thank you," he said simply. He hugged me, and I felt his heart beating, his love pumping through every cell of his body. How do you resist a man whose love is ingrained so deeply? I certainly couldn't.

"We are going to Switzerland," he announced. "I own a chalet there in the Bernese Alps near the town of Addelboden. I thought that you would like it there."

"Switzerland," I mused. "Tell me about it."

"It is a beautiful country filled with glacial lakes the color of your eyes." I blushed. "The government owns all of the vegetation there, so that you cannot even mow your lawn without asking the government's permission."

"Really? Weird."

"It makes it a very lush, green place. There are forests everywhere. We will be flying into Bern, the capital. They speak French around Bern, but where Addelboden is, Swiss German is spoken."

"I don't know any -"

"I know. I speak both French and Swiss German."

"How many languages do you speak Erik?"

"Most of them. I don't speak Welsh."

I raised my eyebrows. "Why?"

"Most of the people in Wales don't speak it as their first language, so I decided that it was not necessary."

"No. Why do you know all of those other languages?"

"You once accused me of being a recluse. I can assure that that is certainly not true. When I was in my teens and early twenties, I visited almost every country in the world searching..." he trailed off.

"Searching for what?"

"You."

-((0))

**(Pssssst . . . our wonderful author deserves praise. You know what to do)**

**-((0))**

**Addelboden is an actual town in Switzerland. I visited there to see the Girl Scout center there a few years ago and so, in my story, the town will be based off my experiences. (sans the Girl Scout center, somehow Erik and Girl Scouts just don't seem to mix...)**

**Thanks to those who reviewed. **_**I **_**was blushing. Any and every review I get, I absolutely love, from pastheart's seven word reviews to EmanuelleG who usually writes almost a page on how Erik is such a bastard.**

**(posted 06-21-10)**


	15. Of Golden Song and Old Friends

**Read the note at the end of the chapter.**

-((0))

I asked Erik what I should pack. He just laughed and said that I didn't need to worry. A lot of help that was.

I don't think he left my side for anything except for a few hours here and there for him to make "arrangements." I even let him sleep next to me. What was the use, trying to resist him? All it ever resulted in was lack of sleep. And it was always easier to fight Erik if I had a good nine hours of R.E.M.

It was finally the morning for us to leave when I sat down for breakfast. Erik was openly staring at me, debating something.

"Whatcha thinkin' 'bout?"

"You. Whether or not you would try to escape me today."

"In other words, whether or not you should drug me?"

He looked away, uncomfortable. "In essence, yes."

"I would tell you that I wouldn't try to make a break for it, but that would be what you're expecting to hear anyways."

He nodded.

"So, it really wouldn't matter what I told you, I'd bet that you're going to drug me anyways."

"The paradox of choice. It is fascinating, is it not?"

I sighed. "When do we leave?"

He shrugged. "A little after noon."

"And what time is it now?"

He smiled. "Let's go sing."

I let him lead me to the piano, and I stood at my normal spot. He shook his head and motioned for me to sit next to him on the piano stool.

"I only have one copy," he explained happily.

It was an original piece he had sitting there. It was a romantic duet – one that features two singers swearing their undying devotion for each other. I stood up.

"I am not singing that. I refuse."

He sighed and put the piece of sheet music aside and starting just playing the piano. Song flew out of the open grand piano and perched everywhere in the room. Gentle crescendos and delicate staccatos alike glided through the air. Soon, a bird of the most beautiful form flew out, a golden throat adding a wordless melody to the song of all the others. One by one they flew away. Except for that one golden bird. It flew away from the piano and embraced me with its warm song. I didn't even notice the chemical stained handkerchief as the silent darkness slipped in to replace that beautiful golden bird's song.

-((0))

"Erik, Erik, Erik," some man was muttering. "Why did you drug the poor girl?"

"She would never have come willingly," Erik pointed out like it made perfect sense.

The other man sighed. "Erik, one of the very first rules of capturing a young lady's heart is to leave her conscious."

"Says the lonely old bachelor himself."

"I have had enough affairs with women for my lifetime." There sounded like a story behind that.

"So you haven't forgotten."

"Even in my 'old age', Erik, I have not forgotten why I was exiled to this frigid mountain."

I stirred.

"You had better leave, Nadir. We will be down for dinner later."

There was silence for a moment and then I heard the door gently closing.

"Christine." Erik's cold hand stroked my face. "Wake up."

I groaned. "Who was that?"

"The bane of my existence. A pest I can never be rid of."

"Erik. A name would be nice."

"Nadir Kahn."

"See? That wasn't too hard," I muttered.

He rolled his eyes. "For you."

I reached out and tugged at his mask. He closed his eyes and fought himself to let me take it off.

"Have I ever told you how much I love you?"

"Over and over again."

"I love you. I love you. I love you."

He reached down and grabbed my hand. I tried to pull away but he placed it firmly onto his face. I could feel my heart bleed with the need for love in his eyes. "I – I..."

His eyes softened. "You are probably hungry. It was a long flight. Nadir has made us dinner."

I smiled. "Thank you."

He picked me up and I squealed. "Let me down!"

"No. I rather like you here in my arms."

I laughed. "You monster."

He went cold underneath me.

"Erik? Erik, are you O.K.?"

"It's nothing," he said, shaking himself. "It is in the past now. It is over."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"I – Erik wishes he did not remember such things. Erik was abused as a child. His mother could not love an evil thing like Erik. She treated Erik like he should be treated."

"Oh, Erik." I hugged him. He grasped me like one would grasp the edge of the cliff they are hanging off of.

That was when Nadir walked in. "Erik, I don't..." He caught sight of us. "Oh, hello, Christine." He put another casserole dish on the table. "Erik, really. Would you put her down? You don't know where she's been."

Erik slowly set me into my chair and smiled like he knew something no other person knew. "I know everywhere you've been," he whispered into my ear. I shivered.

He sat at the head of the huge, glossy table. The table itself was a work of art. Grains of wood swirled and dipped, creating dark whorls. You could tell by just touching it that it was no cheap imitation of wood that they sell at the hardware stores. No. This was true, heavy lumber – a tree that had been cut down perhaps in the near forests and carefully sawed, carved and polished to stand in its rightful place in the spacious dining room in Erik's chalet.

I inhaled the smells of our dinner, trying not to think about the implications of what Erik had just told me. I suppose that is what I do now. Erik does something... not normal, and I try to just look the other way. I suppose it is easier that way.

"So, Christine, Erik really hasn't told me much about you. I'd also hazard a guess that he hasn't even mentioned me. I'm Nadir Kahn."

"Nice to meet you." I shook his hand. "I'm from the U.S., and well, Erik was my music teacher-"

"Was?" Erik interjected.

"Is my music teacher. He started to train my voice about four years ago."

"Hmmm... I... _met_ Erik in Iran several years ago. Has he told you about our time there?"

I shook my head.

"Well then. We, ah, _departed_ about six and a half years ago. We decided to separate. I chose Switzerland and Erik chose America."

I nodded slowly.

Erik cleared his throat. "Now that we have introductions over with, I am famished. Let us dig in."

Nadir turned to me in surprise. "You've actually gotten him to eat regularly?"

I shook my head. "Nope."

"Pity," Nadir commented.

"I am still here, thank you very much."

I had to laugh at his irritated tone. Erik's eyes narrowed and I dug into the hot food.

-((0))

**First of all, I would like to thank everyone who reviewed. Every review is much appreciated. It was pointed out to me that putting politics into my story is a bad idea that could lose readers. I thank that reviewer for their review and would like to say that I meant no harm, only small amusement, and I apologize if Christine offended you. I gave a warning at the beginning of the chapter to read that section with a light heart, and I guess I like to poke fun at people, especially those in politics. I find that it helps to keep my dreary existence tolerable to let go of things and then laugh at them.**

**(posted 06-25-10)**


	16. Of Mountaintops and Raging Rivers

**Guest written by my lovely Australian beta, PHLover213. (Go read ****A Vicomte, A Persian, A Father, A Phantom**** by her and review. She anxiously awaits your beloved comments.)**

**-((0))**

After dinner, Nadir conspicuously disappeared. Erik pried me out of my chair and carried me to his library. I gasped at the number of books. Erik smiled at me. "I had all of the antique weaponry removed just for you."

I moved away and looked around; I was stunned. There were books of all different languages and on every conceivable topic. "Have you read all of these?" I asked in amazement.

Erik laughed openly. "As lonely as I have been in the past... no. I do not believe it possible." he paused and moved over to the shelf I stood at, running pianist fingers along the spines of the books. "But they have been faithful friends."

My thoughts drifted back to Nadir. Erik being friends with... well, anyone was a strange thought. I wondered what he'd done to earn Erik's... friendship. Apparently it took specific characteristics... like hating him for years.

I noticed a thick book on music theory and I picked it up. Erik attempted to take it from me but I turned, blocking his hands.

"I-"

I turned a few pages and noticed it was annotated. I moved to an armchair and read over the notes, and smiled when Erik walked over and put his hand on my shoulder as I read. The handwriting was neater than I knew Erik's to be.

"Younger days." Erik said when I gave him a quizzical glance. The thing about the writing was it was all distinctly about a woman's voice. I was confused but thought nothing of it when Erik took it from my hands.

He said, putting the tome back in its place. "I thought I would take you into the town tomorrow."

"O.K." I said warily. He smiled and offered me his hand and I took it, not completely disgusted for once. Erik's hands, poetic and deft as they were, felt... well, gross. They felt moist like regular skin, but at the same time like bone, tough and hard. I felt uncomfortable as we went back into the dining room, Nadir sitting casually at the now cleaned table. So he was a maid.

"You know, Erik," said the man with a devilish smirk, "Addelboden is a beautiful town, an-"

"I already told her we're going tomorrow." Erik replied coolly, sitting and motioning at the chair next to him. I slid down into it.

"Ah."

There seemed to be tension between them. I couldn't think of anything to break the silence as they stared at each other. I thought about the next day. I guess I had never heard anything about Switzerland. I started to imagine an old guy in green overalls playing some really long horn.

"Christine." Erik barked, bringing me completely from my reverie. I looked up at him. "Go to bed. _Now_."

I nodded and set about going to bed. I heard their raised voices from downstairs and I paused at the top landing to listen; I could see their bodies but not their heads.

"So am I to understand that you got the girl _drunk_ and made her sign a marriage certificate?" Nadir exclaimed, his hand going up to drag through his dark hair.

"En vino, veritas!" Erik countered. 'In wine there is truth'. I suppose high school Spanish was worth something.

"Erik, are you stupid?"

Bad move, Nadir... Erik advanced on him like a predator.

"No. She _loves_ me. Why is that so difficult to understand?" he hissed.

It seemed the other was feeling confident. "Difficult to believe," Nadir corrected.

I heard Erik groan. "Nadir, you do not understand. You cannot understand." he gave a sigh.

Nadir didn't respond. I saw as he sank down into a chair. Erik headed for the stairs. I ran to my bedroom and slipped into the bed as I heard him coming down the hallway. I was tired and closed my eyes, pretending to be asleep. I felt his weight on the edge of the bed.

"Now who is," he coughed. "Creeperish?"

I timidly sat up and saw his eyes. They were trained on my face and I blushed inexplicably.

"You listened to our conversation?" he said slowly. I nodded, looking down like a scolded child.

"I didn't _want_ to force you." he said with surprising tenderness. I looked back up at him and leaned back on the pillows. "But you do not understand my need. My need... it's like dying of thirst and heartbreak at the same time. More than loving you, Christine, I adore you. I need you."

I was at a loss of what to say. These confessions of love were confusing. I mean, I didn't love him – though I'd forgiven him, I was upset about Raoul's death, and there was the small matter of him kidnapping me and forcing me to be his wife.

-((0))

The town was beautiful. The people were kind as we walked through; I was pretty sure that Erik was hiding in the copse of trees next to the bakery. He had left Nadir and I as soon as we had passed the first house. Nadir was humming some strange tune, and I could just imagine Erik wincing at the of-pitch melody.

Black rock shot up to brush the azure sky, overspread with puffy clouds put there by a master painter's hand.

Using "I have to go and buy some things for dinner" as an excuse, Nadir took his leave. After perusing all of the shops, I wandered down the road towards the river. My thoughts were back home – home? Was _Erik_ home now?

"Come." Erik said, dragging me out onto the middle of the bridge that spanned the icy blue rapids far below. Looking out, it was beautiful. The quaint hamlet spread out beneath us looked like a doll's village. I had to smile at it.

"What is it?" I asked, noticing the pensive look in his eyes.

"I wanted you to enjoy the beauty of this place. After all, what is there to live for in this life but beauty?" he gave a sigh. It seemed a bit of a paradoxical statement – he _was_ wearing a mask. "I don't plan on living here forever."

"Where then?"

"That is the question." he replied, his eyes tracing the valley. "Nowhere you'd be unhappy. Because, believe it or not, Christine, I care..."

It was if the surroundings were bringing out this softer side of him. And I liked it. He seemed to smile at me.

"Again... where?"

"Wherever you want."

I was starting to enjoy this situation. Things were bad, I knew, but that was a delectable offer. Anywhere in the world...

Perhaps I should have sensed the lurking darkness. Perhaps I should have remembered that it was Erik, and with him, nothing was as it seemed. Everything had a darker, undetected meaning. I should have realized that as close as I thought I got to that flame of a man, it was inevitable that eventually I would be burnt.

-((0))

**Proudly guest written by PHLover213. You should all review, nevertheless, to help our wonderful authoress (her, not me... O.o) to be inspired. :)**

**-((0))**

**Bravo, bravo, my beta. Now, it is my solemn duty to hold the dreaded punjab lasso and threaten you all with strangulation if you do not review. **

**I guess I did get this out on Tuesday after all.**

**(posted 06-29-10)**


	17. Of Sharps and Flats

I hadn't seen either Erik or Nadir all day. I had woken up to an empty, cold bed. I tried not to let my overactive imagination run wild with ideas of shady drug deals and hacking into government databases. Instead, I looked out the window of the library. This was the first house I had ever seen Erik in that actually had windows. My eyes swept over the tree tops and into the cold, gray clouds that blocked the quaint town from view. I hugged my cup of hot cocoa. It was bloody summertime! Its not supposed to snow in June!

I drifted over towards the piano. It was a gorgeous black concert grand that was always propped open. I sat at it and started playing some of the simple tunes I had struggled to learn while I was at the University. I had been so close to my degree. Another semester and I would have graduated. I suppose I should be grateful. I wouldn't have to ever go begging for some menial job that barely paid the bills. I would never be a starving artist with Erik as my – dare I say it – husband. It just felt unfair. If I ever was allowed to audition somewhere, how would I ever know that it was my talent that put me there? Or was it just Erik threatening the management? Would he even let me audition? It was depressing to think that I might spend the rest of my life with only Erik to talk to, shut up inside some extravagant house.

"F sharp, dear," Erik commented quietly, disrupting my thoughts.

"What?"

"That note is an F sharp, not an A flat."

I had wondered why that phrase had always seemed weird. Erik approached me and, for a second, hesitated before sitting down next to me on the piano stool. He moved his hands over the keys and played the entire piece perfectly from memory.

"Show-off," I said, sticking out my tongue. He almost looked... offended.

"Lunch is ready," he said after a long silence.

"O.K. Do know what it is?"

"No."

The silence got thicker and thicker by the second until we reached the dining room. I could almost see the tension between Nadir and Erik. So they had been arguing. Erik pulled out my chair for me and helped me sit. He gave a warning glare to Nadir and promptly disappeared.

I sat opposite Nadir. I looked up at him to ask a question, but he seemed engrossed in his dinner, so I lost my nerve and went back to my own plate. We finished and Nadir stood in silence and collected the plates, taking them into the kitchen. The quiet was eerie.

I left for the library and, for the first time, Erik did not join me. He did not sit in his usual chair after lighting a fire in the giant stone fireplace. He did not grab a book and pretend to read it while really watching me. He did not bring in his glass of blood-red wine and offer me any. I was unnerved. He never missed this.

It took about five minutes for me to realize that I was too distracted to do anything. I got up and started to look for Erik.

He wouldn't be in Nadir's room. He wouldn't be in the kitchens. It was too damn cold to even want to be in the gardens. I checked our room to see if he was already asleep.

Nope.

I checked his study. Perhaps he was working on some kind of drawing. I had caught him designing buildings before and he just said that it was an overgrown hobby of his. I wondered for a moment if he designed the chalet. Probably. I peered around the corner and into the room. It was empty.

Where was he? Maybe he went for a walk down to the river. I was too afraid to venture out. I would just wait for him in our room. Yes. I stepped into the room and my heart stopped.

There he was, laying face-down on the floor. Oh my God. I rolled him over and thought about what you were supposed to do with someone who was unconscious. My mind went blank.

"Nadir!" I screamed. "Nadir! Help!" I cradled Erik's head in my lap. "Nadir!" I was desperate now.

I heard heavy footsteps running up the stairs. Why, oh why did Erik have to put our room on the top floor?

Nadir, winded, burst into the room. "Oh, Erik. Why do you do this to yourself?" he placed two fingers on Erik's throat and pause for a second.

"Nadir... Nadir do something... what's wrong?"

Nadir was too busy laying Erik out and loosening Erik's shirt to reply. He ran out of the room.

"Where are you going? Nadir! Nadir! Oh my God! What's wrong?" I hugged Erik. "I am so sorry, Erik... so sorry... I love you... come back... what would I do without you? Erik... please... come back... you have to make it through... for me... you have to... please..." I sobbed into his white shirt.  
Nadir ran back into the room and pushed me off of Erik. I sat huddled next to Erik, rocking back and forth, the tears flowing down my cheeks. Nadir pulled out two long needles. I cringed. He opened the lid of the first one and I whimpered.

"Calm down, Christine... this will help him come back," his terse voice suggested otherwise. I crossed myself and started saying the Lord's Prayer. Nadir chuckled.

I slapped him, suddenly angry. He looked up at me a bit irritated, a bit stunned.

"Do you have a problem with my religion, Nadir?" I asked slowly.

He sighed and shook his head. "Do you have a problem with me saving Erik? If you distract me much longer, I won't be able to bring him back," he retorted angrily. I went back to sitting next to Erik, grabbing his other hand. It was so cold. I rubbed it gently, my hands shaking with fear.

Nadir held the needle to Erik's skin and looked up at me. The message was clear. I, refusing to leave, looked the other way and tried not to notice Erik's soft moan as the needle pierced his skin.

"Oh Erik," I said softly, pulling my fingers through his thin, black hair.

Nadir finished the second injection and cleared his throat. "Help me get him onto the bed, he will be more comfortable there."

I nodded and grabbed Erik's arms and tried to pull up. He was _heavy_. Granted, I've never tried to carry an unconscious body before, but I thought people were lighter than this. We half-dragged, half-carried Erik to the bed and heaved him up onto it. I hoped he wouldn't be injured just from that. Nadir started to arrange him under the covers.

"He'll probably be angry with me for telling you this, but I think you need to know," Nadir started. "Erik is a morphine addict. Always has been. He told me he had quit since meeting you, and, well, I believed him. It wouldn't be the first time Erik's duped me. He takes it as an escape from his... problems.

"We had... ahh... a discussion earlier and he got very angry with me. You see, he doesn't feel as if he is in control when he is up here. He hates feeling powerless. I would guess that living among people again... above ground especially, is more difficult for him than he lets on. I was worried about this happening so I had some supplies on hand. I was hoping..." He trailed off.

"What were you hoping?"

"Never mind, dear." He collected his things and left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

I slipped under the covers next to Erik. I peeled off his mask and stroked his face.

-((0))

Erik tossed and turned all night, moaning as if he were in pain. I stayed next to him, dodging his flailing arms and trying not to get smooshed beneath him. He cried out in different languages, seeming to plead. I just held him tightly and drifted back asleep.

-((0))

"Good morning," Erik groaned.

"Do you know what just about happened? Do you -"

"Yes, yes, and yes."

I started crying. "You bastard! Don't ever do that to me again. I l-"

"It won't happen again."

I looked at him critically. "Yeah?"

"It will not happen again," he said slowly, "because... because I'm letting you go."

-((0))

**Holy crap! It's your friendly neighborhood beta, reminding you to REVIEW! **

**-((0))**

**I think my beta pretty much summed it up. **

**So... I found out that I'm going to be a math and art major this next year (how's that for a combo?). I actually intend to go into architecture, but I have to survive Basic Drawing first, so I set up a DeviantArt account under the name ravensharpe. Needless to say, my drawing skills suck. My goal is to use the account as kind of an incentive for practice. At least go look me up... please?**

**One last thing... don't punjab me, but I talked with my beta, thought about it for a long time, and decided that I like where **_**Dreams**_** ended and any type of sequel would be superfluous (a lot like **_**Extras**_** is in Scott Westerfeld's **_**Uglies**_** series).**

**To all of the Americans out there, HAPPY FOURTH OF JULY!**

**(posted 07-02-10)**


	18. Of Tickets and Tea

That was it. That day, Nadir drove me to the airport. He handed me an envelope and a plane ticket. I was too numb to even say good bye.

I boarded the plane, not noticing where it was going to, only thinking that it was taking me away from Erik.

I stared at the envelope for the longest time. We were about halfway across the Atlantic before I got up the courage to open it. A letter and a credit card fell out.

I read the letter. Don't ask me to repeat it back to you... I don't have _that_ good a memory.

I do remember that Erik had written that he loved me so much that he was letting me go. He realized that I was unhappy and that what he had done was wrong. He had divorce papers in the works back in the U.S. and that Raoul was alive and that when the paperwork finally got through the system that I would be free to marry Raoul and live happily ever after. It also said that the enclosed card was a debit card with several million dollars on it and that it was all mine to do with however I pleased.

I was sobbing by the time the plane landed and didn't have the strength to fight the crowds. This was what I had always wanted and now I realized that I didn't want it. I wanted Erik.

I walked up to the ticket booth.

"I want a ticket to Bern – the next flight out. I don't care what it costs."

The woman at the counter looked at my bedraggled form and checked her computer. "I'm sorry ma'am, but the next flight out is in three days."

I hesitated and thought of Erik. This was my only way back. "I'll take it."

-((0))

I entered my apartment expecting to see a layer of dust on everything that would make my can of wood polish cower under the counter, but to my surprise, it was spotless. I put on some water to boil and sat down on the couch.

It would all turn out O.K., I was sure of it. I would go back and see Erik. I would tell him that I really, truly, deeply was in passionate love with him and never wanted to leave his side again.

I didn't know where we would go from there. I was sure that there would be many fights in the future. We would argue about everything, from what I was wearing to where we should move and where I should audition. But there would be music. We would always be together through the music that bound our souls together – for better or for worse. It would be hard, but we would make it, I was sure of it.

The teakettle whistled and I got up and made myself a cup of rose hip tea. Erik had recommended it. He had rambled on and on about high Vitamin C content, yada, yada, yada.

I wondered about school. Did I even need a degree? Why did I need that stupid slip of paper anyways? All it said was that I had put enough time and money into the University for them to want to recommend me to anyone. Erik and I would work it out.

I sipped my tea and stared out of the window. It would all work out.

-((0))

I started boxing things up. I would never return here anyways. I put all of the important photos in a box along with my father's violin. I grabbed a few other sentimental mementos and packed the rest of my stuff up into a box to be given to charity. Staying with Erik had taught me that so much of my life was replaceable – that I held onto way too much stuff.

-((0))

I was congratulating myself on my splendid packing job on the second night. Have you ever tried to pack up all of your stuff in three days? It's damn near impossible. But I did it. I had my suitcase packed and I was ready to leave forever.

I gave my notice to the landlord that morning and had called the charity truck to come tomorrow after I had left.

I went out and bought myself a really nice, expensive bottle of wine and was just about to pop the cork when my cell phone rang.

I swore and went hunting for it through the maze of boxes. It stopped ringing. Damn it. I went back to the bottle of wine. Whatever it was – it could wait.

The damn thing started to ring again. This time I found my purse and looked at the foreign number. This was going to cost me badly to take this call.

"Hello?"

"Christine, good... ah... evening is it over there?"

"Nadir! Can I talk to Erik?"

"Christine..."

"It's essential."

"You can't..." his voice was hesitant.

"And why not?" I snapped.

Christine... Erik is dead."

-((0))

**Let's see... have I included all of the cliché cliffhangers yet? Nevertheless, review.**

**(posted 07-05-10)**


	19. Of Numbness and Pain

I looked down at the syringe in my hand. A short trip to the store. That's all it took. A faked prescription. I would die by the same drug that killed Erik. I rested the cold syringe against my arm.

I loved him. And I never had the guts to tell him. Never had the guts to kiss him of my own accord. What disgusting filth I was!

I remembered all of the music lessons. How we were constantly at each other's throats. I never admitted it, but secretly I loved arguing with him. World peace and all... well... I just liked a fight every once in a while.

I remembered the music we made. I remembered the ecstasy in music. I remembered the pain. The love.

I remembered Erik. His impeccable dress. His cunning comments. His cold hands. His ugly face. I remembered his smell. The way his eyes showed so much emotion. Such torment.

I remembered Raoul. I felt bad about telling him off, but it... wasn't right. Now that I look back on it, it never was right – just convenient. It was flattering. And I was a stupid, self-centered bitch who soaked every second of it up. I enjoyed being the girlfriend of Raoul de Chagny, heir to a multi-billion dollar business.

I remembered Mexico. How angry he was with me. How I had forgiven him. How he never deserved it. Not a second of it.

I remembered my escape. He was so pissed off. But... when I was sick, he had been so caring, so loving...

I remembered his chalet. It was so open, so free. The place where I should have been. The place were he died.

I remembered Nadir. God! Nadir! If it hadn't been for Nadir, I wouldn't have even gotten to say good bye to Erik.

I remembered. And remembered... It was so hard to remember. So painful.

I remember my parents. I remember when Mom died. Dad had been distraught. He had locked himself in his room for what had seemed to my young mind as forever before he had come down. He never touched another musical instrument again.

I remembered elementary school and the tobacco education classes. I remembered going home at night and telling Dad that he should stop smoking... that it was bad for his health. Mrs. Harmon had said so.

I remembered ninth grade when the coughing started.

I remembered tenth grade when I was called into the office in the middle of Mr. Hamilton's English class and told that I needed to go to the hospital right away.

I remembered the doctor coming up to me and telling me that my father had two months to live.

I remembered how he had held on for six months. I remembered getting the call in the middle of lunch. He was dead. I felt so numb.

I remembered the pain that had followed the numbness. What pain! The torture I had felt then was nothing compared to what I was feeling now.

I looked out into the black night. There was no moon tonight. No stars.

I pressed the needle harder against my skin and stopped. I couldn't do this! No!

I paced back into the kitchen. I saw one of his roses, dried, wrinkled, crumpled sitting on the ledge above the sink. Tears burned my vision as I stumbled over and grabbed it.

I went and sat out on the balcony. Erik was right. There is no hope. There are no happy endings, just endings. I leaned back in the chair and pressed the needle into the large blue vein in my arm and pushed the plunger down, awaiting the dosage that was more than enough to ease my pain.

"I love you, Erik."

**-((0))**

**(posted 07-12-10)  
**


	20. Of Epilogues and Endings

Never before had such an inhuman scream been heard. The man had crept up, unseen. Hoping only to check on her. Just to check on her.

She would be doing much better without that shadow, that extra smudge in an already dark night. It had seen her in that chair looking like she had just taken a short nap. But he knew the truth. He saw the empty syringe. He had felt her cold forehead. She was still clutching his rose in her hand. It had all been for naught.

The figure extracted a rope from his dark coat. A very special rope. He tied one end to the balcony rail. He placed the other around his neck. The man climbed up onto the rail looking back at the beautiful woman, sitting dead in the chair. It was all over.

He leaned back and tumbled over the ledge.

-((0))

**And they all lived happily ever after. The end. You know, I heard a quote in a movie once - "Happy endings are just stories that haven't finished yet." Depressing, I know, but somehow I didn't see this story ending with Erik carrying Christine on his gleaming white steed riding off into the red sunset. First of all, Christine would probably demanded her own horse. Anyways...**

**I've hit a point in my life where I am really, really busy. Now, this could change and I could be back sometime next week. But, I am working on my next project. (I'll send it to you after I have the first couple chapters written, PHLover213.) It really doesn't have a title yet, so I'm open for ideas. Part of it is about Erik who is writing **_**Don Juan Triumphant**_**. (You know, the work that Leroux never let us glimpse.) This part is written in ballad form. (I'm scared that this will put some people off, but, believe me, I am no Homer or Dante.) Part of it is about Christine, an English major, at an unnamed university modeled after the university I will be attending. It will be written at a much slower pace than this story (a post a week, probably). **

**I want to thank (takes deep breath) green-eyed-owl, EmanuelleG, Kali Rose, n., StakeMeSpike04, TooLazyToLogOn, pastheart, tricksterink, PhantomAngel777, StrawberryStoleYourCookie, Queen of Hearts 1995, Unknown, broadwaygirl818, Alanryin90, Star****lyne Zeviar (also for your career advice, it was much needed), Cantbelieveyoujustdidthat, and Ivory Wolf. (Phew!) Thanks for reviewing. You are my inspiration to continue. It would make me more inspired and motivated if you review this chapter as well. Please. Pretty please.**

**Last, but most certainly not least, I wish to thank my beta, PHLover213. She kicked my ass when I was laying there just staring at the most scary screen for a writer – a blank screen, and told me to go write. You know, I can't spell worth anything. I can tell you what the square root of two is off the top of my head, but without spellcheck, I would be lost. Millie helped me with all of my grammar yuckies and helped keep me going when the pickings were slim. Thank you. (Now, go read her stories and leave her a review.)**

**Your (put in any adjective you please here) author,**

**Raven Sharpe**

**((0))**

**(posted in the wee hours of the morning of July 13, 2010)**


End file.
